


beating within your heart

by dutiesofcare



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe where the Doctor can survive with one heart only, Angst, Car Accidents, Domestic, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Heart Transplant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, The Hybrid - Freeform, The hybrid who will unravel the web of time and destroy a billion billion hearts to heal its own, Twelve donates one of his hearts to Clara, hybrid prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 86,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutiesofcare/pseuds/dutiesofcare
Summary: After enduring a serious accident, Clara is left hanging by a thread. Her only chance of survival is if she immediately gets a new heart. And that heart comes from the person she least expected: the Doctor.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea while having a conversation with @thirteenoswin back in 2016, and I finally managed to finish writing it. So, Ste, this is for you. I hope you don't kill me for all the angst xx
> 
> A special thanks to Solène for being my beta and always providing me with her thoughts and opinions.

“You sure you want to do this?” Martha Jones asked for the zillionth time, hesitantly staring down at the unearthly man lying down in front of her, wearing nothing more than a hospital gown.

With a fierce expression on, the Doctor nodded his head vigorously. “Surer than I’ve ever been.”

* * *

 

_One day before._

Clara Oswald had no idea how bad her promising day would turn out to be.

She woke up with a warm smile spread across her lips. Today would be her day. She knew that somewhere in the universe the Doctor was just waiting for her to get out of bed, so he could pop up and take her somewhere _else –_ regardless if neither him or his time machine had any sense of _timing_. She was just expecting him to show up sometime – somewhere – during her day.

She jumped eagerly on her feet, took a quick shower, chose a nice outfit. As ordinarily as any other human being, although there was nothing ordinary about how her day would turn to be. Traveling towards the stars made her feel incredible special – no one else got to live the kind of life she lived.

She sat down at her kitchen table, taking her time to sip her cup of tea. Although her external façade was peaceful, her blood was rushing quickly through her arteries and  veins. She kept her ears out for the materializing sound of the TARDIS, hoping he would get to her before her normal routine started, for many were the times she would go off during school period and would come back without any idea of what she was doing when she left, not even what outfit she had on.

Clara looked at the clock and sighed. She couldn’t wait any longer or she would be late for class. Dreadfully, she got up, grabbed all her things and climbed down her building’s flights of stairs, where her anti-gravity bike silently waited for her. She smiled to herself, remembering how she had stolen it from the precious incarnation of the Doctor, as a souvenir from their first encounter.

Turning the engines on, she took off. The London streets were unusually empty, making her wonder if there had been some an alien invasion over the night and everyone either disappeared or judged better to stay home. She jerked back, knowing very well  that, if she carried on traveling, she would find the Doctor right at the heart of the problem.

Clara sped up a little, but not enough to danger the life of other or even her own. She could be reckless in space, when risking her life just to be with the Doctor – to be _like_ the Doctor – but she would never be reckless enough in transit and risk herself a _mundane_ death, even if most people, especially her family, would prejudice riding a bike as a sign of imprudence.

She heard a car’s motor loudly coming from behind. She peered at the mirrors and could see a fancy car approaching. If she didn’t have to keep her eyes on the road, she would have surely rolled them until they reached the back of her head. That was the same kind of car her _mates_ from university drove in order to show themselves to the _ladies_. Of course, she had never been a victim of theirs, neither would she become one that precise moment. She held tightly to the clutch, preparing herself to the draft of air that would soon pass her by as the car rushed past her.

Clara only didn’t expect that, instead of it passing by her side, the car would hit her right in the back, at the highest of speeds.

And all of time and space seemed to stop around her, frozen on a single frame.

Clara desperately tried to grab a hold of the vehicle, but she was unable to keep its balance. Her bike was thrown sideways, towards the cars coming on the opposite direction, and her arms failed to sustain themselves clung to the motorcycle. She closed her eyes as her body hit the ground, the inertia causing her to roll along several times, her back burning by the touch with the hot asphalt. Her legs were tangled around her bike, getting her stuck underneath the very heavy vehicle. Both of them ended up several feet away from the crash site.

Clara was ready for the upcoming car to run her over – she had no idea how distant it was. She could only assume the heavens were on her side when she heard its loud breaks pressing against the road, letting her know that the driver had seen her scattered across the ground.

She gasped for air, painfully, and her lungs burned with the oxygen they were then offered. She couldn’t breathe. There was something too heavy on top of her chest. She tried to get out of there, but all her muscles refused to obey her brain’s commands. She had no alternative than to lie there, completely still, completely _lifeless_.

Her mind was working too fast in comparison to the rest of her body.

Clara desperately wanted to take off the helmet, at least so her air way would be freed, although she couldn’t feel her arms. Heck, she didn’t even know if they were still attached to her torso. Better than her legs, she thought, for she could still run away from alien monsters without her arms. Then again, she couldn’t tell if her legs were there, either.

She could hear voices. Too loud. Too quiet. She couldn’t make what they were saying, but they were still there, tormenting her, disturbing her. She just wanted them all to go away so they wouldn’t increase her already growing headache. She just wanted to close her eyes and let the darkness swallow her.

Suddenly, she started to cough, several times, her injured body jerking at each time, causing it to hurt – she hadn’t noticed the pain until then. She felt a metallic taste in her mouth, and she knew it wasn’t just saliva. The blood pouring out of her throat would hit against the helmet only to fall back into her face. She would soon drown in her own sanguine fluid.

She was surprised when the headgear was taken off. Carefully, avoiding hurting her any further. She thought its removal would be enough to get her breathing steadied again, but she still could only retrieve the air required for her survival through desperate gasps. At least, she wouldn’t suffocate to death anymore. Clara just wished her torso would be relieved from all the pressure above it.

She didn’t recall it being so cold when she left home. She should have grabbed an extra jacket.

Her lower lip began to tremble, unsure whether it was because of the cold breeze or the shook finally starting to subside as her pain infensified. _She needed to get out of there._ Why wasn’t anybody helping her? She needed a doctor, she needed _her_ Doctor. Why wasn’t he there helping her?

For the first time, Clara dared to open her eyelids, but she regretted it as soon as she saw the world spinning. She felt like puking, but she didn’t even find the strength to do so. She could see lots of blurry heads around her, she could see their lips moving, she understood they were trying to help her, but none of them seemed willing to take the first step.

At last, she heard sirens approaching. She thanked the stars, for she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold for much longer. She was breathing quickly, loudly, yelps coming out of her mouth at every breath drawn in sharply, because she struggled to fulfill her lungs with oxygen. She blamed the bike thrown above her, slowly and gradually suffocating.

Clara didn’t know whether her heart was beating too fast or too slow. If she didn’t know better, she would say it wasn’t beating at all.

Her eyes were still open, but she really wasn’t processing any images. She just knew if she dared to close them, there was a great chance she wouldn’t open them again.

She didn’t mind dying, no, so long as she died seeing the stars. She refused to perish like this.

“ _Ma’am? Stay calm, we’re going to get you out of there.”_

The voice was close. Were they talking to her? What were they saying? They gave her hand a firm squeeze, and she concluded the paramedics had arrived – no civilian would dare to touch her. At least now she knew that arm still belonged to her body.

An oxygen mask was placed above her mouth and nose and she was grateful. She wouldn’t have to overwork herself to search for the air she gravely needed anymore. They moved her head carefully, putting it on a neck extrication collar, so she wouldn’t risk breaking her neck. They more they moved her, the more pain she felt.

“What’s your name?” a male voice asked, still holding her hand, in a silent attempt to let her know she wasn’t alone.

Her eyes wandered towards him, his figure still being hazy shades of blur. His words were still distant, but she did her best not to let them go to waste. “Cl-Clara,” she gagged, in a very low whisper, one that she was unsure it had even escaped the lips that formed it.

“Alright, Clara, I need you to pay attention to me,” he prompted and she nodded, although she doubted she had succeeded, not entirely, at least. “We’re going to free you now, and I’m not going to lie, it’s going to hurt like hell,” she didn’t move an inch, but her eyes flickered in consent; she was unsure they had understood the meaning behind her blinking. "Your injuries are being held together by the motorcycle, and when we remove it, they’re going to become messy. It’s going to hurt like hell, and you’re going to feel like fainting, but you can’t. You hear me, Clara? You have to _stay awake._ ”

 _She could do it, she could handle the pain._ She had been through worse when traveling with the Doctor, she assumed she had. Her eyelids shut as she felt the pressure leaving her body, tearing down the link that had been created between her and her anti-gravity bike.

She was freed, and Clara felt the life being sucked out of her.

Her whole body started to shake terribly, and she found the gas mark useless. It took her whole three seconds to start coughing blood again. Weren’t it for the paramedic to remove the mask, she would have most likely choked.

“Easy, Clara, just breathe,” the old man tried to calm her down, with no use. He stood by her side as the other slipped a hard spinal board underneath her.

Clara felt herself getting increasingly weaker. She did her best to stay awake, but she wasn’t strong enough. The darkness soon welcomed her in.


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor learns about the accident and rushes to the hospital to see Clara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everybody who took their time to read and send me some feedback - especially on twitter. I was really anxious whether to publish this or not, given how borderline insane this plot is. And it pleased me to know you were all on board with it :)

_“Clara Oswald! Where is Clara Oswald!”_

The entire hospital staff turned glares towards the shouting person, who had just popped out of the blue. He seemed like he could kill someone if he didn’t get the information he required, and yet no one was willing to go and help him, were it for lack of interest or fright. They just stood completely still.

The grey-haired man placed his hands on his hips, circling around himself, _daring_ someone to help him. His eyes burned with rage; he was sure he could _murder_ someone just by glancing at them. His exterior façade was a lie, however. The despair was abruptly pathing through his veins, his hearts aching at every single case scenario. He had no idea what had happened before he received a call telling him _his Clara_ had suffered an accident.

He didn’t know if she was injured. He didn’t know if she was still _breathing._

“ _Clara Oswald,_ ” he made sure to emphasize every syllable of her name. “Get me to her, _now_.”

“Sir, calm down,” a voice called him out, from beyond the counter. “Can I see some ID, please?”

The Doctor walked towards the woman, throwing his physic paper to her. He remained silent, knowing the less he bothered the secretary, the faster he would see Clara. He tapped his fingers impatiently. “Are you related to Miss Oswald, Mr. Smith?”

“She’s my companion,” he laid out flatly.

The woman made a face, handing him back the paper, “Miss Oswald is in the ICU, sir, you’re not allowed to visit her unless you’re her kin.”

He did his best to sustain his composure as he leaned towards her. “I just told you, I’m her _companion_.”

She arched a brow, doubtfully, “Are you two married?”

“No, but—"

“Then I’m sorry, but I can’t bend the rules for you.”

Angrily and not providing her the privilege of an argument, the Doctor turned on his heels, heading back to the TARDIS. He would get what he wanted, were it licitly or not. He didn’t care about rules, he just _needed_ to see her, to touch her face, to hold her hand; to make sure she wasn’t going to _die_ on him.

The moment he landed at the third floor, he breathed in calm, aiming to stay off the radar. He wandered around, studying every face lying still on a white bed, behind a window made of glass so they wouldn’t get even further germs. Some of them were on their own, some of them accompanied by their families, each of them having their own unique story that eventually led them there. It saddened him to see all of them ripped from their ordinaries lives.

And then, he saw her.

Clara had her eyes closed, lying completely motionless – he was unable to tell if she were conscious or not. Her face wasn’t injured, but she still had a breathing tube down her throat.  The Doctor laid his hand across the glass, trying to feel her presence. He couldn’t tell how wounded she was, not from where he stood. He could only assume it was bad, otherwise she wouldn’t be in the ICU. She wasn’t alone; her grandmother was there with her, holding her hand, her eyes red and puffy from recent tears. His uncertainty was gradually turning into a constant: he was standing on the very edge of _losing her._

_“Who the hell are you?!”_

The Doctor shifted on his feet the moment he was called upon. He wasn’t surprised to see Clara’s father, sitting in a chair right in front of him, his perfect view of his daughter being blocked by his presence. His features matched the ones of his mother. Although they had met before, the alien couldn’t blame him for not recognizing him. “I’m a friend of Clara’s. I was called when she first arrived. I’m the Doctor.”

Weren’t it for the situation, Dave Oswald would have surely laughed. “Clara’s really got a fetish for doctors, hasn’t she.”

The Doctor’s expression remained blank. “What’s her diagnosis?”

Dave sunk his head into his hands, still in complete disbelief, still denying the possibility that his only child might not make it. He felt the Doctor’s presence in the seat next to his. “It’s… It’s not looking good, Doc.”

“Tell me,” he was nearly the point of begging. “Her medics wouldn’t tell me because I’m not family, and I might be able to help.”

The father glanced at him with hopeful eyes, even if the rest of his traits had already lost all the hope they once held. “They threw her out of her bike,” his voice was hard, on the verge of crying once more. “The cops came by, said the driver was drunk, said that witnesses reported he aimed to hit her, probably having fallen asleep on the wheel and lost control of the vehicle. He aimed to _hurt_ her for whatever bloody reason, and now he’s facing charges of murder. _Of murder._ ”

“She’s not dead yet,” he stated, clenching his fists hardly together. Even if he didn’t have the whole picture, the rage still ignited his entire body.

“Yeah,” he uttered, pitifully. “I don’t know why Clara insists on riding that thing. I’ve told her so many time it wasn’t safe, that she could end up hurt, but she’s too stubborn. Once she has her mind set to something, there’s no getting her back.”

“Clara is a force of nature,” the Doctor affirmed, staring at the fragile frame of his companion, “You can’t blame her for who she is. Her fire and determination are what make her so special, so unique. _So her._ ”

“Well, look where that specialness got her!” he yelled, apologizing right after for disturbing the peace of the place. “Did you know that Clara tried to remain in control over the motorcycle, so when she fell off, she got stuck underneath it? Did you know that her body was dragged for over ten feet, getting the skin of her back to _burn_? Did you know that her femur was crushed, and she faces the possibility of never properly walking again, _if_ she makes out of that bed? Did you know that she can’t breathe on her own, not without the tube stuck down her throat? Did you know that when the bike fell onto her, a metal bar impaled her heart? Did you know that Clara is on the transplant list, and if she doesn’t get a new heart in the next feel hours, she will _die_?!”

His words were harsh, angry, but not intended to distress the Doctor. They were addressed to the universe, at _anyone_ who dared to hear. They were grieving words, because Dave Oswald could not bear losing the two women he loved he most. He wouldn’t be able to _breathe_ if the two of them were taken away from him.

The Doctor felt a twinge coming from his hearts. He felt his lungs filling with air and not letting it go. His eyes were fixed on the transparent glass, although they never focused on Clara, because they could not stand the idea of seeing her _fading away._ Seeing her so hurt, so fragile, _so broken._ He knew more than anybody how threateningly life was, but he had never expected her to get hurt when he wasn’t there to _rescue_ her.

“Let me help her,” the Doctor’s voice was hushed, barely even making it past his lips. He was _scared._ He knew that eventually he would lose her, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Clara deserved _better_ than an earthly death. “Let me save her.”

Dave bent his chin sideways to look at him, eyes glowing underneath misty layers. “Can you save her? Can you _help_ Clara live?”

“I can,” he was quick to say, “But you need to trust me.”

“Alright,” he seemed a little hesitant, “What do you want to do?”

The Doctor took his time, choosing his words carefully. “I have resources, powerful resources. I need to take her to them.”

“Wait,” the father raised his hand in the air, “You want to take _my daughter_ out of the hospital?! No, that’s not happening.”

The Doctor shook his head, doing his best not to lose his temper and ending up snapping at humans. Did that happen, he would be forbidden to be near Clara. “You need to listen to me. You need to _trust_ me.”

“No!” he spat, standing up angrily, whiffing furiously through his slightly departed lips, “Clara is in the best hospital in London. Any chances she has of surviving, she has in here. I will _not_ let a skinny old man that I’ve never seen before just walk in here and say they know what’s best for my daughter, _because they don’t._ I’m her father, I’ve know her since before she was born and I will do what is best for Clara.”    

The Doctor got up as well, gesturing with his hands in the air, “I’m Clara’s best friend. I care for her as much as you do and I don’t want to see her dead, either. If Clara were awake, she would allow me to do whatever I can to save her life.”

“But she’s not,” he cried, “And until she regains her consciousness, _if_ she’s lucky enough to get a new heart and regain her consciousness, I’ll be her voice. Not you.”

The Doctor sighed. “You’re making a terrible mistake. And that _mistake_ may cost you her life.”

Dave crossed his arms, the tears then falling freely down his cheeks. “I think you should go now.”

The alien straightened up, not surprised by his reaction. He refused to go, however, not like this. “Let me see her.”

“What?! _No_ …!”

“You want me to leave? I’ll leave,” he took a small pause, “But not before you let me see Clara.”

He seemed to think for a long time. “Fine,” he grunted, were it out of kindness or just desiring to get rid of him.

The Doctor mouthed him _thanks_ as he made his way to Clara’s bedside.


	3. Clara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor sits by Clara's bedside, cries of despair escaping his lips in the fright he would lose her. Until, it hits him: he knows how he can save her.

The grandmother spotted the strange man coming in, but didn’t dare ask him who he was, too afraid to disturb the  _ child  _ in her  _ sleep.  _ She didn’t have to ask him any questions; the emotions written on his face lines showed how much he cared for Clara.

How much he was hurting just like the rest of them.

The Doctor sat right by her side, wanting nothing more than to touch her, to feel her warm skin, to feel her alive underneath his touch, but he restrained himself. His hearts were begging to get her out of there; it required him so much effort to watch her slipping away and do nothing _.  _ He cleared his throat, aiming to both attract the elder’s attention and to impede his voice from lodging there. “Can I… Can I have a moment with her?”

Although she didn’t glance up, she agreed. She ran her fingers through Clara’s, planting a tender kiss to the woman’s forehead, before leaving without saying a word. There wasn’t anything to be said; their silence was already loud enough.

For the first time, the Doctor took a closer look on her. Her eyes were black as death, even if her face failed to show signs of any wounds – most likely because she had been wearing her helmet. Nonetheless, she still seemed incredible discomforted with the tube going inside her mouth. Clara was wearing a gown, therefore he couldn’t have a sense on how injured her torso was. Her right leg was in a cast, pinned with a few metal bars, preventing her bone from falling apart. The first thought that came to his mind was,  _ how would she run away from aliens like this? _

For he knew he could fix her, could get her back in one piece. If her father hadn’t been watching them like a bandog, he would have sent her a good amount of regeneration energy, no matter how much she would have shouted at him later.

Because having her alive to scold him was enough.

He reached for her hand, resting against the white sheet. It was cold, colder than he remembered it to be,  _ colder than his.  _ Of course, he knew why; her heart wasn’t working enough to properly heat up her limbs. Her feet were most likely under the same condition, and he missed her  _ warmth. _

The Doctor carefully wrapped his palms around her unusually small hand, rubbing her skin as he went, trying to offer he as much body heat as he could. He hated seeing her like that. Clara was the strongest person he knew, and his only consolation was knowing that she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Clara, Clara, Clara…” he sang her name, his syllables gradually fading away. For the first time in his life, he was out of words. His brain was lacking the capability to form any coherent thoughts — there was nothing coherent about that situation at all.

He was afraid to touch her. He was scared that he would  _ damage  _ her if he dared to perturb her, because she just looked so small, so fragile, so  _ breakable.  _ And that image really disturbed him; that wasn’t  _ his Clara _ lying in there. At the same time, he desired nothing more than to tug her in his arms and shield her from the universe itself.

“Clara,” he called for her again, his voice then full of despair, “Can you hear me, Clara?” he wasn’t asking, he was  _ pleading,  _ for he couldn’t bear the idea that she might not hear him. “I know for a fact that you’re not sleeping. No, you look peaceful when you sleep, and you don’t look peaceful right now.”

Many had been the times that he had watched her asleep, that she had fallen asleep next to him, were it in the TARDIS or off in some planet. He loved watching her drift off, the calm that surfaced her expression brought him serenity. When she dreamed at night, her lips would turn into a slight smile and he knew she was reminiscing their life through the stars. Or her face would turn into a frown and hushed whines would escape her closed mouth and he knew she was having nightmares, leaving no alternative but to draw her closer into his arms, until her freight would cease off and they would then share the same state of peace.

_ “What did you dream about _ ?” he would ask her, day after day, every time he saw her emerging from her bedroom into the console room, wearing nothing more than a pair of weird patterned socks and one of his black punk shirts that suited her as a dress. It was a level of intimacy they had both grown used to.

“ _ An orange planet in an elliptical galaxy, surrounded by binary stars and a pink nebula,”  _ she would say, almost melodically and her legs would dance in her word’s rhythm until she approached him.

_ “Ah. I don’t know any orange planets surrounded by pink nebulas,”  _ he would prompt, a growing smirk on his face,  _ “A purple nebula, however…”  _ and together, they would pull down the TARDIS lever.

_ “What did you dream about?”  _ he would ponder, almost hesitantly, but never failing to provide her those exact same words. He would silently watch as she tiredly moved to a sitting position on his bed – she had argued that if felt too good to be wasted on someone who never slept, so she should make some use of it.

_ “That everything ends,”  _ she would whisper after a while, her lips dry, glancing at him with the huge eyes he had grown used to love,  _ “And it’s not always in our hands to postpone their endings.” _

He would nod, slowly making his way to sit by her side on their bed. He wouldn’t need to invite her as she unapologetically welcomed herself in his arms, adjusting her head against his torso so she could listen to the music of his heartbeats. They would silently stay there, still, both denying the possibility that one day they would not have each other anymore.

The Doctor breathed out heavily, unable to let go of her hand. “Clara, I really hope you can hear me, or I’m just making a fool of myself,” inevitably, he chuckled, “And you’d love that, wouldn’t you.”

He knew she would, because  _ her  _ foolish old man he was. He carefully removed a hair lock from her face, “I want to be mad at you, really. How could you have gotten yourself into this…  _ mess _ ?” he desperately cried, his hands slightly shaking. “But how could I be mad at you? I blame your face, I don’t know how you manage to have that effect on me even when you’re not… here.”

Because she wasn’t. she was stuck somewhere inside her own body, trapped, battling for her own life without a single clue of what she was fighting  _ against.  _ The Doctor took her hand to her lips. “Don’t take me wrong, Clara, but you don’t look really good right now. Trust me, pale green really isn’t your color. If I could, I’d bring you one of me tees, they suit you much better. And, I believe you’d be much comfier on them.”

Clara remained perfectly still. If her chest was rising and falling, it was so slightly he could barely notice. Weren’t it for the heart machine beeping – even if it took forever between one beat and another –, anyone could mistake her for  _ dead. _

“You can’t die, Clara, you can’t die,” his voice was progressively being held by the lump in his throat, “Look at all the people you’re going to leave behind; do you really think they’re going to make it without you? If you feel like you’re losing your strength, then just remember that I’m still here. I know it might sound rather selfish, but  _ I’m still here.  _ I’m not going anywhere, not without you.”

Silence.

Sadness clouded his features. “But if you feel like it’s your time… We’ll understand. If you hear your mum and Danny calling for you, then follow their voices. We’ll still know you did your best to remain with us. But I am  _ begging  _ you, Clara, that you don’t give up so easily. I know it seems hard right now, but I’ll get easier. I’ll be here to help you ease your pain.”

A lonely tear escaped the corner of his eye, and he made no effort to wipe it away. He just didn’t care at that point. “Damn it, Clara,” he cursed, his voice louder than before. “Why? Why would you let this happen to you? Why would you put yourself in that bed? Why, Clara, would you make us hurt almost as much as you do?”

The color was draining out of his face. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault, you didn’t ask to crash your bike, nor to have your heart literally crushed inside your chest. No. I know you enough to be sure that you wouldn’t risk your life on Earth. On the stars, maybe, but not here.”

The Doctor wished she would just open her eyes, because she was the chatty one, not him, and her eyes tended to express everything she felt, everything she wanted to say. “I’m sorry,” he uttered again, “For being so careless and letting you keep the bike. I should have known better, that it could be dangerous, that it could get you hurt. I can hear you lecturing me that it wasn’t my fault, but, Clara, look at yourself. I put you here.”

The unsaid truth was destroying him. He  _ hated _ himself for not being  _ there  _ to save her from the crash.

He lowered himself towards her head, but still having a significant distance between them. “You know why I didn’t come pick you up earlier today? Because I wanted to prove to myself that I was capable of being without you for long periods of time. And the longer you waited to see me as well, the greater would be our reunion. Well, Clara, it’s taken me  _ your life  _ to have my answers. I’m not ready to lose you, not now, not ever. Clara,  _ please,  _ don’t make me spend the rest of my incredible long life without you.”

The Doctor rested his head next to hers, still not touching her, still holding her hand. “A heart transplant. Really, Clara? Of all the stupid and unnecessary organs you could have lost, did you really have to go for your heart?! Yes, of course, I know you’d never settle with the easy path, and losing a spleen or even a kidney would be too boring. You should have just… kept them all inside of you.”

And then, it hit him.

He knew how he could save Clara.

The Doctor straightened up his back in a blink. “Okay, Clara, don’t move. Don’t get out of here, alright? I’m going to be gone for a while but I’ve got a time machine, so you won’t even notice my absence,” his words were getting ahead of himself, “I can save you, Clara. I will save you, just you wait here, okay?”

He placed a soft and rushed kiss on her knuckles, before getting up and running out of the room. He didn’t even acknowledge the suspicious looks that Clara’s family gave him as he disappeared from their sights.


	4. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor reaches out to the one person he trusts enough to help him save Clara's life. Martha Jones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conjecture: the Doctor can't survive without his two hearts. Preposition: let's assume he can.

Martha Jones stared curiously at the grey-haired man. She had no idea where he had come from, for he seemed to have just popped out from thin air. And it didn’t help the way he was glaring at her, were it or not his intention to make her uncomfortable. She cleared her throat, “Hm, hello.”

“Hi,” his voice was raspy and heavy, “It’s me.”

She knitted her brows together in confusion. “Hello, you.”

He stared at her blankly. “The Doctor.”

Matha’s entire body froze. Working at UNIT, she often kept track of his doings on Planet Earth, but she never got around to see him. She hadn’t been able to follow his faces. “You’ve changed,” she stated the obvious.

“A couple of times, actually,” he concluded, keeping his distance. He wasn’t the happy glowing hugging man she used to know. Not anymore. “I need your help, Martha Jones.”

She nodded vaguely, unable to miss the hint of despair in his voice. “Alright. Come into my office and we’ll talk.”

Awkwardly, the Doctor followed her. He didn’t take a seat like she gestured him to. Instead, he circled around the room several times, both studying her office and deciding carefully what words he should use. There was no way to ease all the things he wanted to say. “My friend, for whom I care endlessly, is very ill.”

Martha bowed her head, leaning herself against her desk. “What’s wrong with her?” she didn’t have to be a genius to know he was talking about his latest companion.

“She was in an accident,” his exterior shell was as calm as ever, unlike his inner self. He was taking his time, because time itself was a slave of his. “She’s in line for a heart transplant. It doesn’t look good.”

Martha felt the pain going through him. No matter how long it passed, he would still never willingly be the one to say  _ goodbye.  _ “I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could do to help her.”

“I’m getting there,” he held his finger up in the air, alarming her of the words that were still bound to depart his lips.

She waited for a while, but he seemed to have entered a silence he wasn’t compelled to break. “I hope you’re not asking me to murder someone to get her a heart.”

The Doctor gave her a face. Had she forgotten that he was against violence? “No, I’d never ask you to cause any harm.”

“Well,” she prompted, “What is it, then?”

His pacing slowly reached a complete stop. Overthinking every thought that crossed his mind. For the first time in his very long life, the words were getting lost on the vast road from his brain to his vocal chords. “I need you not to fight me.”

“Okay…” she hesitated.

“I mean it,” his tone was harsh on her, “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Martha didn’t have to think twice to provide him a reply.

“Then promise me you’ll do what you’re told,” he demanded, sounding, however, much more like a pleading, “For old time’s sake.”

Martha let out a long breath. “I promise, Doctor.”

At last, he glanced right in the middle of her pupils, just so she would know he wasn’t messing around. His lips opened and closed several times, before any sound made it out of them, “I’m going to give her my heart.”

Martha’s jaw fell open. She was  _ sure  _ she had misheard him. “I’m sorry,  _ what?! _ ”

The Doctor remained cool, almost indifferently. “She needs a heart, I’ve got one to spare. I can save her life. I  _ will  _ save her life.”

“You’re crazy!” she spat, her eyes wild with shock.

“Am not,” he argued, placing his hands on top of each of his hearts. “They’re starting to grow lazy on me, it’s more than reasonable to give them some work to do.”

She high pitched repeated, “You’re crazy!”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I’m not crazy, I’m just trying to save her life the only way I can.”

“Doctor, listen to yourself,” she tried to knock some sense into him, “You have a  _ binary  _ system, you can’t survive without two hearts!”

“Unbinary it,” he muttered.

“Hold on,” she held her hands up in the air, “You want  _ me  _ to remove your heart?!”

He shrugged, “You’re the only medical doctor I trust.”

Martha wanted nothing more than to slap him. “You’re bonkers, Doctor. I won’t be the one who signs your death. I refuse to.”

The Doctor took three steps towards her. “You promised, Martha.”

“That’s because I had no idea you’d gone  _ mad _ ,” she snapped, mercilessly.

He sighed, “I can live with just one heart. Time Lords’ bodies adapt themselves easily. It would take a while, of course, it would reduce my energy by half until I learned how to live with just one heartbeat. It would be hard, but I would be alive, and so would  _ she _ .”

Martha swallowed hard, “You wouldn’t be you anymore.”

The Doctor whiffed, “I am my own person, Martha. My guts don’t define me.”

“I meant you wouldn’t be able to go off saving worlds.”

“I’m in need of some vacations, anyway,” he shrugged it off. “So, will you do it?”

Martha wanted to deny his request, but she  _ couldn’t.  _ Not when he was looking at her like that, so lost, so hopeless, so  _ hurt.  _ She found it incredible hard to say no to that aged face of his, much more than to the puppy eyes  _ her  _ Doctor would throw at her. “Just… Just tell me something.”

“Anything.”

She took her time to find the proper words. “Is she… Is she worth it?”

“Yes,” his answer came quickly. “I don’t think I’d give my heart to anybody but her.”

Martha smiled, even if she couldn’t tell whether he was speaking literally or metaphorically. She assumed both. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

* * *

 

She watched him closely as he played with the buttons of his time machine. His face was frowning, he looked  _ mad.  _ Mad at the universe for putting him in such position. He was scared; not at what would happen to him after losing one heart, but at the possibility he  _ still  _ wouldn’t be able to save her.

“The TARDIS is in the time vortex,” he explained, avoiding eye contact completely. “Once we’re finished,  _ you’re  _ finished, I most likely won’t be able to bring you back to Earth, so I’ve programmed her to land just a couple of minutes after I left Clara in the hospital. All you have to do is pull down the lever and she’ll take you home.”

“Wait,” Martha held her hands in the air, “You want me to perform the procedure here? Not in an actual proper hospital?”

“The TARDIS is an actual proper hospital,” the Doctor grunted, offended at her insinuation. “Better than  _ all _ 21 st century hospitals, I’ll have you know. She can even get you hologram projections to help you through.”

She made a face. “I think I’ll manage, thanks.”

“That’s holophobia for you,” he condemned, “Remember, you’ll be on your own once we land. You’ll have to call the hospital  _ and  _ tell them you’ve got a heart for  _ Clara Oswald.  _ You’ll have to get to the hospital. You’ll have to fake exams and documents to assure them it’s a legitimate heart; the TARDIS will help you with those, don’t worry. Her survival relies on your success, Martha.”

“No pression, okay,” she lowered her head, laughing uncomfortably. “Doctor, you’re not human. How do you know your heart is going to be a match to her body?”

“Time Lord and Human anatomy are quite similar,” he said, moping around the console. “We may have a binary system, but our cells and blood aren’t as  _ complicated  _ as yours, for it lacks all those little peculiarities that impede you from matching one another.”

She tried to lock eyes with him, but his constant walking made her give up. “I still don’t understand how that makes your body match hers.”

He sighed, “Picture your blood system. Any blood type person can receive blood from an O neg, because an O neg person doesn’t have the agglutinogen in their red blood cells that would cause harm to the A, B and AB person.”

“So you’re O neg,” she drew her own conclusions, getting a nod from him. “What will happen to you after the surgery?”

“I don’t know,” he blurted out, “And I can’t wait to find out.”

Martha exhaled. “Can I just express my disapproval towards… this?!”

The Doctor chuckled, finally calming his legs still. “You can. But that’s not going to change my mind. I’m doing this whether you’ve approved or not.”

She leaned her back against the console. “I get it, Doctor. But aren’t there any other ways? I mean, you’ve got all of time and space under your hands, can’t you find another way to save her?”

“Oh, I could,” he assured, “But how can I get her family to trust me? A strange man from space? Clara is under their care, I just can’t go around dishonoring their wishes, not when they’re Clara’s voice.”

“Okay,” she seemed to think for a while, “Can’t you wait, though? People die all the time, a heart is bound to appear eventually.”

“Clara’s life is hanging by a thread,” his words were stuck in his throat, “She doesn’t have the luxury of waiting.”

“Pop in the future, then,” she prompted, “And check for yourself if she’s going to live.”

“But, if I do and discover she’s  _ dead _ ,” the last word struggled to leave his lips, “I’ve doomed her life. There’s no way to unseeing the seen.”

The room was filled with a loud silence that the Doctor made sure to soon break. “I’ve thought of every other alternative, Martha, and there’s just no other way. Clara’s survival is only guaranteed by my heart.”

Hesitantly, Martha had no choice but to bow her head, “Doctor, I have never operated on a Time Lord body before. What if I mess it up? What if… I end up killing you?”

“You won’t,” he shook his head, “The TARDIS will guide you through. Just open your mind and let her speak to you.”

Without too much of a fuss, they both entered the deep halls of the time machine. They were brought to the big operating room the TARDIS had just designed, where the medical doctor scrubbed in as the Doctor changed into a gown and laid in the hard surgical table.

Martha joined him, her hair up in a bin, wearing a mask and a pair of gloves. She locked eyes with him, daring to ask one last time the question tormenting her, “You sure you want to do this?”

Not demonstrating any signs of fear or regret, the Doctor fiercely nodded. “Surer than I’ve ever been.”

* * *

 

Dave Oswald desperately looked at his  _ dying daughter  _ from across the ICU window. He and his mother had been sitting with his unconscious woman for the past five hours, ever since the grey-haired mysterious man had left her side, both sending silent prayers to whatever powerful force was out there. Neither of them dared to say a word, thinking it would be a disrespect to Clara to start a conversation she wouldn’t be able to participate. She loved to talk ever since she was just a kid.

They were kicked out of her room when her heart took a turn for the worse. The sound of the heart machine had become one straight non-stop sound, as her injured organ ceased to provide her the essence of life. The old man felt his own heart stop dead inside his chest.

He couldn’t afford to turn his eyes away, afraid she would die on him if he did. His body was frozen, watching as the medical doctors worked on her. Tried to keep her alive. Defibrillated her chest once, twice, thrice, until she got a heartbeat back. Weak, but  _ there. _

Dave ran his hands through his hair. He couldn’t picture living in a world without his daughter, but at every passing second, part of his hope that she would get the heart she so obviously needed vanished into thin air.

For once, he wished he had listened to the strange friend of Clara’s and trusted him to save her life.

The doctor in charge of Clara’s healthcare came out of the room, leaving others to carry on working on her condition. Her expression showed compassion, lacking the same hope of the father. “Clara’s state is unsteady. It took us a long time to bring her back and it frightens me that every time her heart stops, it’ll get harder to get a heartbeat from her. If she doesn’t get a transplant in a very short time frame, I’m afraid she won’t make it to the next sunrise.”

Dave let a sob escape his lips as he fell onto his mother’s arms.

* * *

 

Martha Jones stepped out of the time machine, holding her grip tightly around the cooler that held the heart that many species would kill to have and expose as a trophy.

It had been a difficult surgery, she wouldn’t lie. She had damned the Doctor several times throughout the procedure for putting her in such a position, as she reluctantly accepted the help from a couple of holograms the TARDIS had offered. She could tell the old machine was as disapproving of the situation as the surgeon was, but neither had a saying when the Doctor had something in mind.

The night had already fallen and Martha frowned. She remembered it to still be light when they took off, and she could only assume the TARDIS still had precision issues. She exhaled deeply, in attempts of easing herself down, for she could hear the clock ticking right around her ears.

She slipped her phone out of her pocket and dialed the hospital. It took a total of three rings until an answer. “Hi. This is doctor Martha Jones calling from U.N.I.T.. I have a heart for Clara Oswald.

* * *

 

Clara’s hospital room was suddenly invaded by the rushed staff, startling both the father and the grandmother. “What… What is going on?” he asked, getting up. He wasn’t holding her hand or anything, too scared he would  _ break  _ her if he did.

A stack of papers was shoved into him with no further delay. “I need you to sign these, Mr. Oswald.”

“What is this?” he tried to make sense out of the written words, but worrying about his daughter for over twelve hours had made all the letters look blurry.

“Consent papers,” there wasn’t a time for explanations, “We need to prep her for surgery  _ stat.  _ We’ve just got a call, we’ve find her a match.”

For several moments, her words didn’t make sense. Dave didn’t know whether to scream in relief or kiss the doctor. “Clara’s got a heart?!”

The woman smiled, her own heart twitching inside of her chest at the knowledge that she could  _ save another family.  _ “Clara’s got a heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback keeps me going :)


	5. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After enduring the heart transplant surgery, Clara finally wakes up.

Clara couldn’t move. Not one single muscle and she couldn’t understand why. She had no recollection of what had happened in the past – hours, days, months, years? Stupid time marking. She just felt like she had been asleep for a very long period, longer than she would appreciate to be. Her mind just wanted to know why she couldn’t move at all.

Her last memory was of her waiting for the Doctor to come pick her up. That could explain a lot of things. For instance, she could be experiencing a really bad hangover after some intergalactic party, if she were lucky. If she weren’t, then she could only assume she and the Doctor had been caught in a very nasty situation.  

No. It wasn’t that. Hangovers didn’t feel like death and being trapped next to a crossed Scottish alien wasn’t this silent. Silence. It was all too quiet. She had never been particularly fond of the quietude, for silence felt heavy, it weighed on her shoulders. Being comfortable in silence was a level of intimacy she had only achieved with her mother and inside the depths of the TARDIS with the Doctor.

There was a constant beeping in the distance. It seemed  _ so far  _ away, but the calm in the air was so giant she could hear it  _ so loudly.  _ It would most likely drive her insane if she didn’t find a way to get rid of it, but how could she when she was stuck still?

Maybe she could get the Doctor to help her with that. He had to be around somewhere, he wouldn’t just leave her behind in some unknown place.

Unless she wasn’t somewhere unknown. Unless she wasn’t with  _ him. _

Clara didn’t feel good. She felt weaker than usual, like a part of her had been taken away from her. And it  _ hurt.  _ She had been in pain before, several times, but it had never hurt like that. Like she had been stabbed right in the middle of her chest. She couldn’t  _ breathe. _

She noticed something strange going down her throat. Invading her. Was that why she felt out of air? She wanted it out, to cough it out of her mouth, but coughing would take a great amount of effort she didn’t know she had inside of her. Where was the Doctor and why wasn’t he there to help her?

Clara never thought it would drain so much energy to do a task as simple as opening her eyes.

Her vision was blurry at first, taking her eyes a very long time to adjust to the bright light surrounding her. Everything was white, too white, and she knew for a fact she wasn’t in her flat. She wasn’t in the TARDIS either, for the machine wouldn’t willingly paint her insides of any other color rather than blue.

She couldn’t move. Her whole body was sore. There was something that didn’t belong to her inside her chest. Her airway was impaled by some sort of hard tube. She had no idea what was happening, and she began to  _ panic.  _ Her eyes were getting all watery as her heart rate increased noticeably. The beeping sound was closer now, and it strangely became a lot faster according to her despair.

“Clara? Clara, you’ve got to stay calm, alright? It’s alright, you’re okay now.”

She knew that voice. She knew that voice ever since she was just a little toddler. It used to bring her peace in midst of her childhood fears, then why wasn’t it calming her during that moment? 

It just wasn’t the voice she desired to hear the most.

She saw her grandmother entering her vision field, gently touching her face. Clara knew that her own face was reflected in fear the moment the elderly spoke, “Clara, my love, just  _ breathe.  _ You were in an accident, but you’re okay now. You’re in the hospital.”

_ Hospital.  _ She was in a hospital and hospitals tended to be full of doctors, so where was  _ her  _ Doctor? Clara didn’t know how to breathe when there was a  _ breathing  _ tube down her throat — if she weren’t so out of energies, she would surely have fought it off —, but she did her best to calm down until her heart rate decreased to a normal pace. She tried to move her head, only to find out how extremely uncomfortable to do so. She settled with moving her pupils only.

She couldn’t understand, however, why her gran appeared so terrified, like she hadn’t properly slept in  _ weeks.  _ “Your father rushed to get the doctor the moment we noticed you were awake, but he’ll be back in a mo’. Oh, Clara, we were  _ so  _ worried.”

Clara studied the woman’s clothing. She was wearing a yellow gown, alongside a mask and a pair of gloves, presumably not to bring her any further pathogens.  _ What the hell had happened to her? _

She didn’t have to wonder for too long, as the two adults joined her side. Not the  _ doctor  _ she was hoping for, and her features were fair on showing her disappointment. Their clothes resembled to her grandmother’s. She tried to read their expression, but could only focus on how messed up her father looked – because of  _ her. _

“Clara, hello, I’m Dr. Anderson. It’s good to have you back,” the woman greeted with a smile, wasting no time to place her stethoscope on her chest. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Clara blinked. She already  _ knew  _ something had happened to her, she just wanted them to stop  _ patronizing _ her and tell her  _ something.  _ Anything _.  _ Had she got the ability to talk, she would be bumping them with questions until she got the answers she so desperately sought for.

“Your heart rate is a bit faster than I would like it to be, but just having you conscious again is a great sign,” she stated, placing her fingers within Clara’s grip, “Can you squeeze my hand?”

Clara dreaded to know how much time she had lost by staying out of herself, so she closed her eyes and sent all her strength towards her petite fingers. She was so determined to prove herself capable, to prove herself  _ strong,  _ then why couldn’t she provide anything rather than a light and weak hold? She felt the tears invading her eyes at her inability. 

“Shh, it’s alright, Clara,” the female voice guaranteed, “After everything that your body’s been through in the past three days, it’s more than reasonable you might suffer a little of weakness these next couple of hours. Perhaps even a few days.”

Clara wanted to scream. Three days were a great amount of time – although not as much as she had first feared. Did she only know what had put her in a hospital bed. Her gran lightly stroked her hair, while her father just stood in the back, seemingly too afraid that, if he touched her, he would cause more harm than good.

“Now, I would like to keep you intubated for at least one day more. I know it feels awful, but we just don’t want you to overwork your body, okay?” she prompted, taking a quick look at her casted leg, “You’ve still got a long recovery road ahead of you. And it’s not going to be easy.”

Clara was starting to get scared. What kind of mess had she gotten herself in? She looked at her grandmother’s condescending eyes, but they held nothing but a mixture of pain and relief. Not knowing was  _ killing  _ her.

“You must be wondering what happened to you,” the medical doctor incited, getting an almost unnoticeable desperate nod from the patient. “You were in an accident, Clara, on your way to work. Do you have any recollection of it?”

She shut her eyes tightly. She remembered being trapped, she remembered not being able to breathe, she remembered a twinge coming from her heart. She remembered the pain and how much it hurt.

“You got thrown out of your bike by a lunatic behind wheels. He hit you in the back at a high speed, and on the attempt of not losing control, you got stuck under the motorcycle. You burned your back due to the impact with the ground, and it might leave you a few scars.”

Clara didn’t mind the scars. Scars dictated where she had been, not where she was going. Besides, she knew the Doctor could take her somewhere futuristic to get rid of those. But people didn’t get intubated just for  _ burning  _ their bodies.

“Clara, you’re a very petite woman. The weight of the bike atop of you did some damage on your body,” she took long pauses between her sentences, “Your leg got crushed underneath it. We had to do repairing surgery on your femur and you’re going to need a lot of physical therapy to regain at least partial control of your leg.”

And then, the panic took over her.

Clara tried to raise her head enough to look down at her injured leg, but that just happened to be harder than she thought it would be — a knife cutting through her chest. She winced in pain, her lungs suffocating themselves on the oxygen they were being directly offered. Her life was getting sucked out of her and there was nothing she could do about it.

She would be useless to the Doctor if she couldn’t run.

He would drop her on Earth and never come back.

She would be left forgotten on her ordinary mundane life.

Her eyes expelled the salty water disturbing them.

Her heart rate sped up again.

“Clara, Clara, listen to me,” Dr. Anderson’s voice immediately became rushed and alarmed. “You have to stay calm. Your body is too weak to have you panicking, Clara.”

Clara locked eyes with her, tying to obey her words, but she was too unsteady.

“Clara,” she tried again, approaching her head and sending her grandmother away in the process, “When the bike fell atop of you, you were impaled by a piece of metal, right in your heart, and it was torn apart. We did our best to patch it back together, but it was just too damaged to be fixed, so you had to undergo a heart transplant. Clara, you almost died waiting for a heart. You coded so many times, it’s a miracle that you’re  _ still alive. _ And you can’t overwork your heart, Clara, not right now, because it’s going to take some time for your body to adjust itself to the foreign muscle inside your chest. You can’t let it go to waste.”

Clara choked on the tube down her throat. It was all too much, her brain couldn’t cope with all the information suddenly thrown at her.  _ A new heart,  _ she had a deceased person’s heart inside her chest. After all the things she had witnessed and even been through, she shouldn’t feel startled by that but, for whatever reason, she was distressed. She thought her insides were going to implode.

“I’m going to sedate her,” the medic didn’t waste any time, moving to grab a syringe.

“What?!” the father spoke up for the first time, “But she’s been unconscious for the past three days!”

“And it clearly wasn’t time enough,” she spat, pushing the liquid through her IV.

Clara’s despair grew even bigger when the world started spinning around her. She felt trapped, like she had been trapped under the bike, but then inside her own body. And it frightened her to lose control over herself. She tried to fight the darkness off but she was just too tired, too weak, and it soon swallowed her in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism is always much welcomed :)


	6. Breaking the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending a long time in recluse to heal his body, the Doctor visits Clara right after she's had the transplant;

Clara only came back to herself when the night was turning into dawn.

She opened her eyes, but found herself still surrounded by darkness. There was a dim light coming from under the door, providing all the luminescence in her room. She assumed she was alone; she wouldn’t expect her family to babysit her 24/7, especially when she was knocked out. She was thankful for, at last, not having them hovering over her.

She enjoyed the peace. Tranquility would allow her to think, gather all the information she had been offered the last time she’d been conscious.  _ A heart transplant.  _ Those words kept repeating themselves in an unending loop in her mind. She didn’t have to be a medical genius to know the great amount of repercussion that chain of events would bring to her life.

Clara could only remember flashes of the accident. She recalled how  _ scared _ she had been. How she had wished someone would be there by her side and whisper to her she would be alright, even if it’d be a lie. Lies shielded her from the pain, the hurt of knowing she would undergo a heart surgery and have her life changed forever.

She had become a burden to herself. She didn’t blame the Doctor for not having come back for her.

She was cold. She didn’t remember autumn to be this cold, not even during the crack of dawn. She wished she could get up and grab herself an extra blanket, but how would she when she was stuck to wires and tubes. She really just desired to unhook herself from all those gadgets.

Her back was sore, so she tried to turn on her side, regretting it the moment the pain from her incision got to her. At least she had retrieved some of her strength back, enough to allow her the slightest of motions.

The pain. She hadn’t realized how much it all hurt until then – probably the morphine dozing off of her system. She had always been able to handle a strong level of pain before it became  _ too much,  _ and  _ this  _ was becoming too much. She counted to  _ twelve  _ in hopeless attempts to ease herself down.

Clara concluded she was hallucinating when she heard the TARDIS materializing itself somewhere in the building. Not only had she become handicapped, but gone mentally insane as well.

She shut her eyelids lightly, trying to force herself back into unconsciousness. In the darkness, she wasn’t hurting; she was lost, but she wasn’t  _ scared.  _ She then discovered how hard it was to fall asleep when her body had just undergone god knows how many hours of sleep, especially when her mind was too unsettling to simply give in to her tired self. Had she only got a book or something to keep her company.

_ “Clara.” _

She was startled by the sound of a hard raspy voice calling for her. At first, Clara thought she was dreaming, but when she dared to open her eyes again, she saw  _ him.  _ And he was too real to be an illusion. Clara yearned to reach for him, to wrap herself around his body, but she was restrained in that hard tiny bed.

“Hi,” he repeated, hesitantly making his way towards her. It had been almost a year since the Doctor had last seen her, last seen her fragile unconscious form in that same small bunk, even if it had only been a couple of days for her. He had confined himself inside the TARDIS in the time vortex, trusting his machine to take proper care of him. He didn’t regret his choice of actions, not for one single day, even if it had required him  _ a long time  _ to adjust his body to his new reality.

When he first woke up, alone, on a hard cold table, he thought he was dying. He wasn’t in pain, he just felt like life was being sucked out of him. He had become as  _ human  _ as he could be. It took him several weeks to stop feeling like decaying, to settle on a less strong body, on having one heartbeat only. It was  _ tiring  _ having one heart, but he would survive. At least until he regenerated again and got two hearts back — hopefully;  _ potentially. _

He looked at her and she didn’t know she was alive because of him. The Doctor would do everything in his power to leave her in oblivion. If she ever found out, he feared she would pull her heart out of her chest just to give it back to him.

And he couldn’t lose her. Not when he had already done  _ the impossible  _ to save her.

The Doctor pointed his sonic glasses towards the bulb, lighting it enough to provide them some illumination. Only then he was sure she was awake, so he sat by her side and tenderly grabbed her hand. She looked so  _ small  _ underneath his touch. “Oh, Clara.”

Clara looked right into his eyes. He looked lost, broken, like he had lost something, too, she just couldn’t understand what it was. She wished she could say something, she  _ hated  _ being the wordless one. She had no other alternative than to draw strength from the link holding them together.

“Clara,” he cried her name again, “Of course you had to wait until I wasn’t around to go off losing your heart.”

She tried – desired – to laugh, lamenting the effort as soon as the venting tube rasped against her throat, causing her to wince, her face turning into a frown. His apologies came in a rushed hush, but she didn’t listen to him. He wasn’t the one who had crashed her heart, literally. He wasn’t the one to blame.

The Doctor sighed, “I don’t know what kind of influence your father has on people around here, but the nurses are watching your room like a hound dog. I don’t think I’ve come across a hospital room as guarded as yours. I had to dig up the chameleon pendant out of the deep paths of the TARDIS. Do you have any idea how long it took me to find it?!”

Clara smiled with the corner of her lips. It was the only response she could offer. He carried on, “You know, I could take you away from here with it,” he prompted, and she buried her head deeper into the pillow. As tempting as it might have sounded, the simple idea of moving – attempting  to – exhausted her.

Understanding her silence, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles of her fingers. “You know, I tried to take you somewhere else. I really did. But your father wasn’t very keen on it, he couldn’t believe I had less extravagant ways to save you,” he took a small pause, “You should have seen him, Clara, he was so desperate. This is why you can’t go around losing parts of yourself; neither him, or your gran, or even I can bear the idea of losing  _ you _ , Clara.”

She felt a small twinge coming from the middle of her chest – and so did  _ he.  _ Clara didn’t know how to control herself when tears began to run down from her temples to the mattress. To think she had been  _ stupid  _ enough to believe the Doctor would just abandon her. No. They were  _ two parts of a whole. _

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he carried on apologizing. Instead, his words only made the flow of her droplets increase; he had no idea how to help. He was helpless at the mercy of  _ her own pain.  _ “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t choose to be lying in that bed. Oh, Clara…” his voice was gradually getting held back by his vocal chords, and he wondered if she could feel his pain, too. “You look so small in that bed, and that’s just not you. You’re the biggest person I know, it amazes me how you manage to look so tall when you lack in height. And this is why I know for a fact that you’re going to leave this place in a  _ blink _ . And I’ll take you anywhere, anytime you want after that.”

Clara hated herself for not being able to control herself, but there wasn’t anyone else to whom she would break down; show her fragile self. Allow him to know how frightened and terrified she was. No one but the Doctor. For some reason, she knew he shared all her sorrows.

Dreading to disturb her but knowing their mutual need to  _ feel  _ each other’s presence, he let go of her hand only to lie down next to her. At first, he was reluctant, afraid she would break if he touched her, but when she leaned closer, he learned she wasn’t so easily breakable. Perhaps even unbreakable. He let her head rest on his shoulder, despite of all the wires pulling them apart.

“You’re cold,” he concurred, sensing her body against his. He had a low temperature body, it was reasonable she would inherit such an aspect from his heart as well. It would take her a while to get used to it. “Do you want me to fetch you an extra blanket?”

Clara remained still. She wouldn’t mind another heat provider, but she had just found a position she felt comfortable in, t wasn’t her fault if it just happened to be next to his alien physique. Her lack of confirmation was enough to assure him of her answer. The Doctor ran the palm of his hands against the bare skin of her arm.

“I’ve missed you, Clara Oswald,” he whispered, amidst her hair, burying his nose deep into it. She smelled like hospital, but, if he focused enough, he could still inhale her scent. She fit so perfectly in his arms, like they both had been made with the only purpose of  _ completing  _ one another.

Shyly, Clara clung her fingertips around his grey tee, creating yet another unending bond between them. His cold Time Lord body brought her warmth, and she wished she could stay there forever. He made her feel safe, protected. She had missed him, too.

The Doctor let out a long breath. “Are you in pain?” he pondered, afraid to know the answer, needing to know it anyway. He searched for her eyes, although he failed to find them. “And don’t lie to me. You know I can see right past you, Clara.”

Clara hid part of her face on his shoulder, careful not to choke on the breathing tube. Her reply came in a small, barely noticeable shift of the head, one he could only perceive due to the movement against his torso. Clara knew she couldn’t lie to him, but she didn’t want to be sent off to unconsciousness as an escape from her pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said once more.

The Doctor moved his hands towards her temples, helping her the only way he knew how. In attempts to stop him, Clara intertwined her fingers with his, pulling his palms to cup her cheekbones. She glared right in the middle of his galaxy eyes, begging him not to do anything, just to let the moment take control of them. She knew he would never be able to deny her request.

Silently, he planted a wet kiss on her forehead, before letting her lie atop of him. Clara smiled as her eyelids closed, allowing the silence to devour them. For now, she didn’t require anything further than to  _ coexist. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thrive on your feedback :)


	7. The Bearer of Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor brings Clara a few gifts to cheer her up during her stay at the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t live in the UK - or any other speaking english country, as a matter of fact. Hence why the terminology on punishments for DUI are most likely wrong, and even though I did a fair research, I couldn’t find anything on the charges of one who’s /almost/ killed someone in a car accident. If you happen to know something that could enlighten me, please don’t hesitate in correcting me. Otherwise, I guess you’ll just have to forgive my ignorant self and go along with whatever might happen to the guy who hit Clara.

Clara was peacefully lying in the hospital bunk, her head buried in an ocean of pillows – her grandmother had brought them. She had been taken from the ICU to a private room just the previous night, and she could only assume her condition was improving for the better.

She had been breathing on her own for the past three days -- and it _exhausted_ her to breathe on her own; she was slowly relearning how to be in  control of her own body.

She had been so pleased to being able to talk again, only to find out she didn’t have that much to say. How was it fair that she was alive only because someone had died to give her their heart? She desired to contact the donor’s family, to pay them her respect, getting disappointed by finding out the heart had come from an anonymous source.

The hospital’s shrink had come to talk to her when she got the breathing tube out. Explain to her it was more than reasonable to feel depressed – most transplant patients did. To feel like they were trapped with something that didn’t belong to them. Let her know that she _needed_ to fight off her sorrows or she would risk getting the new heart rejected by her body.

Clara was restless. She was regaining her strength back, her color slowly making its way back to her pale cheeks. She wanted to get up, stretch her muscles, but her casted leg arrested her down to a lying position. Not that it mattered, since she wasn’t supposed to leave her room, not when her immune system was so weak, given all the anti-rejection drugs she was on.

Her family had passed by in the morning. Brought her little things to make her feel at home, seeing as the hospital would be her _home_ for still a long period. A few sweaters, some of her favorite books, a hairbrush and the remaining unmarked homework from her students. Anything that would ease her boredom.

Unsurprisingly, Clara finished rereading Jane Austen’s _Pride and Prejudice_ for the zillionth time before the sundown. No matter how many times she would read it, she would always have her attention drawn to something gone unnoticed in the last reading. She made a mental note to talk about it with Austen herself the next time she and the Doctor stopped by for a visit.

The Doctor. She hadn’t seen him ever since the night he broke into her ICU room, where she had fallen asleep clung to him and awoken only to find him gone. Clara wondered if he was off with someone new, or was he just waiting for her somewhere in the future; she knew that either way she was wrong. She felt him closer than before, closer than _ever._ It was a stray feeling she had willingly taken in.

She just wished she could run away with her mad man to escape her problems.

The police had come by the previous day. Intending to update her on what was happening to the man who had _almost killed her._ It had all come as a shock, as Clara’s family had been very keen on leaving her in the dark, neither had she remembered to ask. She’d been too busy just focusing on _breathing_ she didn’t even cogitate the idea of someone else being at fault for her accident.

Clara leaned his name was James Holliver, a twenty-three years old bloke who had spent the entire night drinking with friends and was still drunk when he made the stupid decision of getting inside his car at eight in the morning. CTV footage showed that he had probably fallen asleep behind the wheel and aimed to hit at her after losing control of the car. She wished she hadn’t pushed the DDIs to let her watch the video as it was still playing in loops in her mind.

The man was under police custody, facing charges of vehicular manslaughter. Her father had been pretty adamant that he should rot in jail, and she couldn’t blame him, not when he had been so close to losing his only daughter. However, she had done stupid things in her life too, she had just been lucky enough not to end anyone’s life while doing so. She would hate to pay the higher price for a stupid mistake.

But then, she looked down at herself. She had been broken, torn apart. Her life would never be the same because of a decision _he_ made _._ Of course, it could have been worse, she could have ended up _dead,_ but there was, to her, little difference between being dead and being unable to carry on traveling through time and space. As much as she was sure the Doctor would never leave her behind, a big part of her feared she would _still_ be left forgotten on Earth. A mundane life after everything she had seen was no better than no life at all.

Clara let out a wrong breath. She had told them to do whatever they felt it was right, for she wanted no part in his conviction. Being _his victim_ was already more than enough. She couldn’t change the past, she’d learned in the hard way that time didn’t work like that; the best she could do was to focus herself on healing, so she could move on.

Even if part of her would be forever lost in the accident.

Clara’s body was still incredibly sore. She was only allowed morphine every six hours, and there was still more than one hour left until the next dosage. She could feel her back burning by the touch with the fabric of the gown she wore, and she didn’t know for how long working on her breathing would do as a pain manager. Her leg wasn’t helping either, as she could feel the metal pins cutting through her muscles.

Clara was startled by the sudden opening of the bathroom door, followed by the appearance of a mad grey-haired man.

“ _Jesus,_ Doctor,” she shouted at him, angrily. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone who’s _just_ had heart surgery?!”

He completely ignored her, eyeing suspiciously the place where he had just come from. “Do you have any idea how incredibly small it is in there?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not quite capable of wandering off to explore new worlds such as the _bathroom_ ,” she rolled her eyes as he made his way towards her.

“Well, for further notice, that place is surely _smaller_ on the inside,” he groaned, pulling a chair closer to her bed, “The TARDIS ended up materializing herself around the toilet and I almost tripped over it on my way to see you. I could have died, Clara.”

Her lips slowly curved into a grin, dotting the dimple on her left cheek. “Just one of us in the hospital is already more than enough.”

He snorted, interlacing her fingers into his. “You look better. You’ve got your color back.”

She grunted. From all the things he could have remarked, he had to go with that. “Yeah. I tried to bargain with the universe to give me a more bluish shade, but I ended up being pink again.”

“That’s for the best, don’t want you to go around suffering _bluephobia,_ ” he uttered, playing with her fingertips. His voice suddenly became serious, “How are you, Clara?”

She plastered a closed smile on her face. “I’m getting there.”

The Doctor nodded. She wasn’t lying, but her words didn’t exactly hold the information he required to hear. There were dark circles under her eyes, he could see the exhaustion written all over her face, as much as she tried to hide it. Her grip around his hand was still weak and cold, and from the sweater involving her torso, he could guess she still hadn’t gotten used to her body’s lower temperature. Were she standing, he would conjecture she had lost a significant amount of body mass. Her rapid breathing pattern told him she was in pain and trying to diverge his attention away from it. Clara was still _far_ from getting there.

His eyes traveled to the bed table, “Weren’t you supposed to have eaten that?”

Clara stuck her nose in the air, moving her head to stare at her lunch that had been sitting there for the past few hours. “The nurses have already given me hell, _twice,_ for it. You can save your lecture for yourself.”

He ignored her assertion, leaning to grab the bowl of soup. He glanced at the now cold liquid for a while, trying to identify whatever vegetables it held inside, only to give up right after. The smell alone disturbed his nose; he didn’t blame her for leaving it intact. Making a face, he brought a spoon full of it to his mouth. “It’s not that bad.”

Clara’s stomach tied in knots as she watched him swallow her food. “You’re lying.”

The Doctor shrugged, “Am I or am I not, you won’t know it unless you give it a try.”

“I think I’m good, thanks,” she stated, crossing her arms against her chest, regretting it the moment she touched her surgical incision.

He judged best not to comment on her sudden wincing as he took another bite. “Sure, suit yourself.”

He could see the fire burning in her eyes as she angrily gesticulated for him to give her some. The Doctor didn’t waste no time, grabbing a spoon full of the icky vegetables and taking it to her mouth. “ _You_ were lying…!”

“Of course I was,” he blurted out, holding back a laugh at the sight of her expression, “That thing is _disgusting_.”

She swallowed it all with a big of a struggle, “I hate you for making me eat that.”

“I know,” he looked indifferent, shoving another full spoon on her way before she had the chance to protest. “But hate me all you want, I’m not going to stop caring for you. Taking care of you.”

Clara lowered her gaze, making her best to keep her face straight at the taste of the soup. “I can eat on my own, you know.”

The Doctor chuckled, “From the way it’s been sitting untouched since _noon,_ I’m pretty sure you can.”

She laughed, slightly, but still a laugh. Clara allowed him to feed her without a fight, knowing she would never bring herself to eat that goop, not after all those fancy restaurants he had taken her to. Grinning every time he would get so penetrated into their conversation and would automatically bring the spoon to his mouth, only to be met by a hideous taste.

“Look at that, Clara Oswald,” the Doctor hinted, his voice filled with sarcasm, “You just dinned your entire cold lunch. I’m so very proud of you.”

Even though she couldn’t miss his satirical tone, she just went with it, “Careful, or the nurses might kidnap you to feed all their other stubborn patients who refuse to eat their meals.”

He stretched his arms, throwing the plastic bowl at what he assumed was a trash can. “If that were to happen, I’d let them all starve because I only care for one specific patient.”

“Hmm, I might get jealous,” she hissed, gesturing towards the water jar.

He got up to retrieve it, “You should be. I think I like her better than you. She doesn’t wander off getting her heart crushed.”

“Ha ha,” she mumbled as he helped her move to a sitting position. She didn’t even know if she was allowed to sit, but for once, she didn’t care. Lying down for the past week was making all her organs go putrid on her. Clara didn’t show any hint of agony when he held her by her back, just focusing herself on taking slow sips of her drink.

At the same time she longed for the morphine time to kick in, she dreaded it for knocking her out when she wasn’t done spending time with the Doctor.

“I’ve brought you a few things,” he blabbed, trying to help her lie back down only to get a refusal from her.

Clara looked at him suspiciously, “Please don’t tell me you’ve brought me flowers.”

The Doctor knitted his brows together, “Bringing flowers to people in hospitals is a cliché, and you, Clara Oswald, you’re anything but a cliché.”

Her cheeks blushed instantaneously, but she didn’t turn her gaze away. “Well then, what did you bring me?” she speculated, watching him spend a long time searching his bigger-on-the-inside pockets. Her lips formed the largest grin when she saw it, “I cannot believe you!”

He handed her his favorite David Bowie t-shirt, one that he had personally worn to  one of the late singer’s concert, and was particularly envy of it – it was about the only tee of his that he hadn’t allowed Clara to borrow, because he knew she would make it her own. “I thought you’d like to have something comfier to wear.”

He couldn’t understand why her eyes had gotten all big and bright. “Why are you giving this to me? You love this shirt, Doctor, you wear it all the time.”

“I’m not giving it away, just letting you borrow it until you’re better,” he corrected her, although he had no expectation he would ever get it back again, “Besides, it smells like home, so I assumed it would give you a little encouragement to get out of here faster.”

Reluctantly, Clara accepted it, taking the black fabric of the shirt to her nose. “It smells like you,” she said in a whisper, but was unable to tell him and home apart. She sighed deeply, “I wish I could go home with you.”

The Doctor smiled with his eyes, seeing her clinging to the old tee of his for dear life. It pleaded him to see her so happy just because of a single piece of clothing. “I wish you could too, but I don’t think it’d be a wise idea for you to suddenly pop up completely healed.”

Her face saddened at the idea he could cure her, “Yeah, I know.”

“But,” he rose his index finger up, not letting her stay down for too long, “I’ve brought you something else that’s going to suit you just fine.”

“Yeah?” she restored the eye contact, “What is it?”

“Lie down,” he instructed, getting her to rest her back against the hard mattress of the bed, “Close your eyes.”

Clara did as she was told, feeling him place his fingers at each of her temples. She trusted him enough not to send her back to a dreamless sleep.

“Open your mind,” he enquired, “I’ve picked a nice memory for you. Enjoy the trip, Clara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!


	8. Shared Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor shares one of his memories with Clara and takes her somewhere beautiful.

When Clara  _ mentally  _ opened her eyes again, she wasn’t in her hospital room anymore. She wasn’t in her hospital gown, she wasn’t  _ injured.  _ Her pain was gone and she could stand on her own. She was hesitant to take a step, but eased down when she saw the Doctor approaching.

She smiled to him, amazed at what surrounded her, “Where are we?”

“In the fields of Zirtaeb,” he exclaimed, gently taking her hand into his, so he could show her around, “I came here many past regenerations ago, and I thought you’d like it. Now, I know you’re more of a  _ city  _ girl, but I assumed you’d enjoy the landscape.”

Clara felt the wind blowing into her face. She knew she was inside his mind, that physically she was still trapped in an  _ useless body _ , but it was all  _ so real _ , like she had actually shared that memory with him. Perhaps there was indeed a reminiscing of that occasion buried in the depths of her unconsciousness.

“It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, sensing the earth underneath her bare feet. Letting the flow of life cling to her bones. She trailed carefully through the brown grass, knowing he was hovering right behind her. 

She was careful at first, and then, she set herself free.

Clara opened her arms wide, to be welcomed by the heat of the pink sun in the sky. She smiled; she missed the outside  _ so much _ , to breathe the pure air of nature. At last, she didn’t feel so cold. She could hear a melody in the far distance, and her hair flew messily onto her face when she turned around to look at him, “Where’s that sound coming from?”

The Doctor shrugged, staring at her overflowing with happiness face. She was wearing a white flowered dress down to a little above her knees, alongside a bracelet that hung a yellow lily. Her chocolate brown hair laid messily against her shoulder, occasionally hitting her face as the wind hurled onto them. He couldn’t tell whether she had gotten that outfit from his memories or from her own. He just knew she looked  _ beautiful.  _ “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” she snapped, still unable to get rid of the grin that went from ear to ear. “It’s  _ your  _ memory, Doctor.”

His legs stumbled in circle motions towards her. “I’m an old man. My memory isn’t what it used to be anymore.”

“Liar,” she accused him, dancing off away from him, following the melody that sang to her, “You just don’t want to tell me.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, trying to reach her but always being two steps behind. She surely had a lot of energy to burn. “It’ll ruin the surprise.”

Clara whiffed, finally stopping in her track so he could catch up. “Bet you can’t beat me to wherever the sound is coming from.”

The Doctor let out a chortle, standing in a spot right next to her, “What are you now, five?!”

She rolled her eyes, “Come on, Doctor, give these stiff old bones of mine something to aim for,” she pleaded.

“I’m just saying that—”

Before he had the chance to finish his sentence, he rushed off ahead of her. Clara didn’t waste no time in following him, but her short legs didn’t make up for his long ones. She shouted at him, to no use, as he just kept on running. Those 2000 years of time and space had done wonders to his racing skills.

She met him by the riverside, out of breath. “That wasn’t fair. You cheated.”

His face was dead serious. “How can I have cheated in a ruleless game?” he pondered, innocently.

Angrily – and fueled by the desire of payback – Clara strongly stepped into the stream, getting the cold water to splash all over him. His jaw fell open at the sudden contact with the liquid, having his plaid trousers all wet. His attack brows turned into a single arch. “You’re going to pay high for this, Clara Oswald.”

“Yeah?” she incited him, taking three steps back in advantage, “What are you going to do about it, you crazy old man?”

With devious eyes, he threw water back at her – three times in a row, getting her all moist and running to escape his attacks. He chased after her, eventually being chased as well, until they both tired themselves and fell to the shore, in laughter.

Clara looked down at herself, and her wet dress was suddenly replaced by a brand new outfit. “I like how this shared dream works.”

“Not a dream,” he corrected her, “A shared  _ thought.  _ You’re still wide awake; you may not be physically here, but everything you feel, your body feels too.”

She stared right into his celestial eyes, “You mean that if I die here, I’ll die in real life as well.”

It wasn’t a question, but an allegation. He didn’t need to be a genius to understand her worries of overworking her still healing self. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought it was dangerous, Clara.”

Clara nodded, silently moving her head to use his shoulder as a pillow, feeling him snuggle her closer with his arm. “The music… It’s stronger here.”

The Doctor bounced, carefully, rubbing his thumbs in lines across her upper bare arm. “Indeed. Do you believe in fairies, Clara?”

She adjusted her body against his, fitting perfectly into him. “I believe there are things beyond my knowledge. Things that my eyes can’t explain.”

It was a noble answer. “Well, the music you’re hearing is coming from them, the only inhabitants from this place. Tiny little creatures, invisible to our eyes, flying around from the trees to the stream, working, playing, bringing life to their planet.”

He could feel her smile against him. “I wish I could see them.”

Clumsily, he searched for his sonic glasses inside his pockets, before placing it on her eyes, “Can you see them now?”

“Yes,” she was quick to say, spotting the bright fairies all over her vision field, like fireflies, “It’s lovely.”

His throat sang in corroboration, the two of them entering a brief state of silence. It was nice having someone with whom he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable in the midst of quietude. Their silence wasn’t loud; instead, it brought them peace.

He felt her head getting gradually heavier on him. He looked down on her, but couldn’t tell whether she had her eyes shut or not. “Clara?”

“Hmm?” she groaned, burying herself deeper into him at the sound of his calling.

“Let me take you back to the hospital,” he urged, in a hush.

Clara made no effort to move, “I don’t want to get back.”

He knew she wouldn’t. “You’re tired. You need to rest, Clara.”

Even if she couldn’t deny his asservations, she repeated, “I don’t want to go back.”

The Doctor tugged her closer, planting a wet kiss to her temples. “I’m sorry.”

When Clara opened her eyes again, she was back in the hospital. She sighed in face of returning to her sad reality, already missing his arms wrapped around her, and yet she could feel her bed welcoming in. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He offered her a slim smile. He thought she would be mad for ending the mind link; instead, she was grateful for the brief escape he had granted. “You’re welcome, Clara.”

Only then, she realized she was still holding tight onto his tee. She drew it into her embrace, closing her eyelids. Her upcoming words were no louder than a whisper, “Will you come back?”

The Doctor nodded, although she couldn’t see it. Did she actually fear he would just abandon her at a hospital? At  _ all _ ? As much as he understood where her fears were coming from, it hurt him to know how she underestimated him. He softly caressed the apple of her cheek. “Goodnight, Clara. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“G’night, Doctor,” she managed to mumble before drifting off to exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is much appreciated :D


	9. Out of the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara is finally discharged, she just hadn't consider she would have to get inside her father's car to go home. She panicked.

It was surely the longest month of Clara’s life.

She had no idea recovery was ever that hard. It was  _ exhausting _ . She was sore from lying down in a hard bed for days straight, and she was sure her muscles were starting to rot inside of her,  _ including  _ her new heart.

During her second week of internalization, she had been taken back to surgery, in order to remove the metal pins holding her leg together and replace them by an artificial bone. She was left with just a big nasty scar on her thigh. After that, she had had to undergo physical therapy three times a week, to get her limp properly working again. She looked forward for those sessions, as painful and tiring they were, since that was the maximum of movement she were allowed throughout the days.

And yet she still could barely hold herself standing without the help of crutches.

The on-call therapist had come to talk to her every now and then; be assured she was alright, within reasons. Eventually, they helped Clara cope with her new life, accept that a person would have died anyway, no matter if she got their heart or not. Helped her adjust the restrictions of her new condition.

Her father made sure of coming to see her every morning. Sometimes, when he arrived, she was still sleeping, and he’d settle on just reading the papers next to her; other times, he would come to find her wide awake, edgy because she had been up all night, unable to sleep as every part of her body ached. He would do everything to be lying there instead of her.

The Doctor, on the other hand, didn’t have a regular visiting schedule. He popped up somewhere in her room  _ whenever  _ she needed him. Clara couldn’t explain it, couldn’t  _ understand  _ it, but she and the Doctor were completely in sync. Whenever she was in pain, or bored, or simply missing him, he would come to her, an invisible link holding the two of them together. A bond that certainly wasn’t there before the accident, and she wasn’t very fond of the idea of breaking it.

And Clara did her best to keep her feelings inside until she couldn’t hold anymore and longed to have him by her side.

That day, she was going home. Her medics tried to convince her to stay for a couple more weeks, but there was just so much she could take. The moment she was out of the woods, she would go home, and not even the Doctor could change her mind. She was anxious to be on her own, she wouldn’t lie, but she just missed her home so much she couldn’t stay there and still remain  _ sane  _ any more.

Clara was just waiting for her father to arrive. She had gotten in a few arguments with him in the past couple of days, all of them involving her capability of going home – and she had put her foot down. The best she could do was at least allow him to give her a lift, seeing she’d denied his incessant begging of staying in the hospital for just another week, alongside refuting his attempts of getting her to stay at his place at least until she was able of standing on her own.

Her good leg swung freely on the bed as she stared at the clock in the wall without blinking. Her things were all already packed inside a black suitcase in the corner of the room; she was ready as ever. She wore a sweater and sweatpants, hiding the black David Bowie tee she had underneath – she didn’t need her father making questions about from whom she had gotten a shirt three times her size.

“Hey, pumpkin,” her dad announced himself, and Clara took a long breath in not to lose her temper. He had a bad habit of calling her pet names whenever he was nervous. “You’re ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, leaning on her hands to stand up only to fall back down when she tried to support herself on her wounded leg.

Dave brought her crutches to her. “You sure you don’t want to say just a little longer?”

She placed them under her armpits, finally managing to balance herself up. “We’ve been through this already, dad. A few times, actually.”

He sighed loudly, retrieving her bag from the floor. “Can I at least get you a wheelchair? You shouldn’t be overworking yourself.”

“They said I should exercise,” she elaborated, blankly, working her way towards the door.

“Exercising doesn’t mean not taking it easy, Clara,” he was subtle, but his voice held all the worry he tried so hard to keep hidden.

Clara stopped dead on her tracks, just so she could turn her head around to look at him. “Dad, I’m okay. I’m  _ alive.  _ I know that you’re sick worried, after everything that happened to me, to  _ mum,  _ you have every right to be. But I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. If you care for me at all, then you need to let me breathe before I suffocate.”

He glanced at her with condescending eyes, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll try to behave myself.”

She granted him a slim but genuine smile, forcing herself back ahead.

“Can I just ask you to crash at your place for the first few nights?”

“Dad,” she scolded him.

Dave placed his hand on her back. “Right, I’m shutting up now.”

Their walking to the parking lot took a long time, but neither of them were in a rush. When they reached the outside, Clara smiled. The sun burned in her skin as the wind blew on her face, welcoming her after such a long time trapped inside four walls. She slowly followed her father’s path.

But when she saw his car, all her happiness was forgotten.

Clara hadn’t considered she would have to get inside what caused her to lose her heart in the first place. She had been so focused on going home she had never contemplated  _ how  _ she would get there. She wouldn’t admit defeat so easily, but she was  _ terrified  _ of getting inside a car and losing whatever was left of her life.

“You need help getting in there?” her father prompted, throwing her bag in the backseat, moving to get the crutches from her.

Clara shook her head, clumsily climbing into the passenger’s seat as she leaned on one leg only. She shut the door with trembling hands, wrapping the seat belt tightly around herself before her father had the chance of getting behind the wheel. Had he noticed how hard she clung to the leather of the belt, he made sure not to talk about it.

Instead, he pulled the car into the streets of London, turning the radio on to fulfill the silence. Clara closed her eyes, feeling the vehicle shifting underneath her. She counted to ten,   _ twelve,  _ several times, letting the oxygen go in through her nose and out through her mouth. Regardless, she  _ still  _ thought she was choking; the world was one step away from falling apart.

The city was noisy. Too loud. Cars buzzing and engines roaring. Her heart raced inside her chest, faster than the car she was in, faster than the car that had hit her. She closed her eyelids in failed attempts of stopping her surroundings from spinning around her, colliding into her. Life was crashing inside of her.

Her traits were turning white, her face was blank. The control freak was no longer in control of her own self. She needed to get out of there, she needed to admit defeat before she  _ drowned.  _ She just didn’t know how to ask for help when she couldn’t find own her voice.

“Stop the car,” she demanded, her father casually jamming to some Beatles’ hit next to her. Her voice barely escaped her lips. She felt herself growing sick.

“Clara?” he called out for her, not fully making her words. He turned his head briefly towards her, bewildered by the image of her. “Clara, what’s going on?”

“ _ Stop the car! _ ” her tone became desperate as her heart was one step away from jumping out of her chest. And that would be a complete waste of a perfectly well heart.

As her father pulled over, Clara struggled to break free from the seatbelt. The car had barely come to a full stop when she forced the door open and stumbled out, tripping down at her own feet until she slammed onto the brick wall, using it for balance just so she’d manage to keep standing.

The air was suck in her airway and she believed she was going to faint. She had no idea what was happening to her, she just knew she was scared,  _ terrified  _ of being confined inside that asphyxiating place. Clara Oswald was never so easily scared, and yet she was  _ scared to death. _

She didn’t notice the approach of her father. “Clara, what are you doing?! Come back to the car, you shouldn’t be overworking your leg!”

She shook her head desperately; she couldn’t, she  _ wouldn’t.  _ “Please don’t make me go back in there, dad. I can’t do it.  _ I can’t! _ ”

Dave couldn’t make the meaning of her panicked words. He had never been good at comforting people, not even his own daughter – he had always relied on Ellie for that. He knew there was no one who Clara would allow herself to be helped rather than her mother, the  _ one  _ person who wasn’t there. “Sweetie, calm down. Come on, don’t you want to go home? You can’t just walk there.”

Her head wasn’t able to stop swinging sideways — or was it the consequence of her soul trembling? —, she would rather rot there than to get back inside, and she dreaded her father for not understanding her fears, for lacking the compassion to respect her feelings, were it on purpose or not. Her new heart screamed inside of her, too loudly, too noisy, too likely to scare herself away if she didn’t know any better; she was starting to think she didn’t

“Daddy, please,” she begged, on the verge of breaking down. She had no idea how she was still standing, for her legs felt weak underneath her.

He tried to relieve her from her own weight, but stood back when he saw her flinch. “Tell me what you need, Clara.”

Her lower lip was shivering, trying to fly along the wind. The one person she needed the most was the one her father couldn’t call for. But maybe, just maybe, if she thought about him, if she let her heart  _ long  _ for him, desire his presence, maybe he would come to her.

* * *

_ “Clara! Clara!” _

Clara was surprised to look to her side and see the TARDIS parked a few feet away, since she hadn’t heard it materializing. She didn’t know how long she had spent wishing for him, but it had been enough time. For the first time, she let go of the wall, just to falter her way towards the Doctor.

“Clara,” he cried as she threw herself into his arms, giving in all of her weight, which he was more than willing to take. He felt her heart rate slowing down when it met his, for it had finally found somewhere – something?  _ someone? _ – it was familiar with.

The Doctor eyed questioningly the younger man, trying to gather any insight on what was going on, but he seemed just as lost – perhaps even more, since he had just seen a daft old man come out of a blue box that had popped up out of thin air. He buried his mouth and nose into her hospital smelling hair.

Clara held him by the neck tightly, almost choking him, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Please, take me home. Just take me  _ home,  _ Doctor.”

Her words were no louder than a whisper, but their proximity allowed him to hear her. She was hiding her face against his chest, and for a moment, he feared she would miss the sound of his second heartbeat. However, she was so focused on  _ breathing  _ he doubted she would.

Without uttering a sound, he walked her towards the TARDIS, motioning for the father to follow right after. Clara didn’t let go of him in the process, replacing him for her wounded leg. Their journey was slow, hesitant; they weren’t in a rush. Time was barely a constant in their lives.

The Doctor tried to get her to sit down, but she refused to uncling herself from him. Instead, she led him to the console, so he could mess with the buttons that would bring her home. He had no idea how she, trapped in a 5’2 injured body, still managed to boss him around without a single word.

Dave’s jaw fell open the moment he stepped inside, the door magically closing itself behind him. “It’s… It’s bigger on the inside?!”

“Yeah,” he grunted, unable to diverge his glare away from the human still attached to him, “It happens.”

Given the sharp answer he’d gotten, he thought it was best to say silent, even when he felt  _ whatever  _ he was standing on shifting beneath him. He grabbed the closest thing he could find in pure horror.

“We’re home, Clara,” he whispered in her ear, getting nothing more than a weak nod of her head. It was already enough. “We’re home.

She didn’t even notice he had referred to her home as his as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your feedback gets me going :)


	10. Doctor? Who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave Oswald has a lots of questions after the sudden appearance of a big blue telephone booth and a grumpy Scottish man coming out of there.

Clara was sore from all the walking, therefore she made no effort to move from where she stood. As if he could read her mind, the Doctor lifted her by her torso and took her outside, ignoring the perplexed look on Dave’s face as he laid her in the couch, making a mountain of pillows where she could properly rest her leg.

Clumsily, he kneeled down next to her, just so he could be at the same height as her. He hated how sad her eyes looked. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

She shook her head, focusing her eyes on the Doctor rather than on her father tripping out of the TARDIS. “It’s nothing, I’m… I’m fine.”

The Doctor moved her hair locks away from her face, rubbing her applecheeks with the tip of his thumb. “You’re not fine, Clara. Look at yourself, so terrified, so scared. Admitting a downfall doesn’t make you any weaker.”

Clara’s hand touched his own, cupping her face with it. “It’s silly.”

“Silly or _human_?” he hinted, feeling her pulse against her own, knowing their hearts to be beating at the same rate.

She glanced at their joined hands, just so she wouldn’t have to sustain the eye contact. “I… I don’t think I can ride a car again.”

Her tone was uncertain, and he understood. She was scared of _dying -_ and he couldn’t blame her. “Do you want a new bike? I can fetch you another one from the TARDIS.”

She shook her head, frightenedly. “I don’t think I can ride a bike, either.”

The Doctor brought her knuckles to his lips. “You don’t have to be ashamed of being scared, Clara.”

“No?” she pondered, so innocently, so much like a child’s plead.

“No,” he reassured her, “Because I’ll give you lifts for as long as you need them.”

She smiled. It wasn’t big, but it _genuinely existed._ “Thank you, Doctor.”

He knew her gratitude wasn’t just towards the lifts, it was for so much more. It was for being _there_ for her.

They were both interrupted by a despaired Dave walking back into the living room. “It was noon when we got inside that—thing! And it’s night! The sun is completely gone from the sky!”

The Doctor whistled in annoyance. He was doomed a conversation with his time machine about how she should _never_ mess with time when there were strangers aboard. “Congratulations,” he mumbled, “You’re officially twelve hours younger than your timestream.”

“Clara?!” Dave roared, completely ignoring the hint of sarcasm on the other’s man voice. “What is going on? Who the hell is this man? What on Earth is that telephone booth? Clara?!”

She tried to get up, but judged it was best to remain lying down after the look the alien man offered her. “Dad, calm down. This is the Doctor, a dear friend of mine.”

“Yes, I’ve met him before,” the father spat out, “That doesn’t explain _who_ he is.”

Clara frowned, her brain only comprising his first sentence. For all she recollected, they hadn’t run across each other at all during her stay at the hospital. She eyed the Doctor suspiciously, demanding explanations, which he was sure to provide, “I tried to talk him into letting me take you somewhere where I could heal you. He thought I was planning to _murder_ you instead, so, next time, please leave him a note to _always_ listen to the Doctor.”

Her mouth shaped an  _oh_ and she swallowed hard. She didn’t know why she was so surprised; of course the Doctor would have tried to save her without so many future consequences. The father didn’t let the silence prevail for long, “Clara, you were under the best care in London. Would you really want me to endanger your life by letting you off with some old bloke I had never seen before?”

Clara sighed, unsure whether to stare at the Doctor or at the father; she stared at neither. “Yes, I would, actually. But it doesn’t matter anymore, so please just drop it.”

Dave simply couldn’t. “Who the hell is that man?”

Haphazardly, Clara entwined her fingers around the alien’s. “This is the Doctor,” she repeated, “He’s not human; he’s a 2000 years old alien man from an ancient civilization in a galaxy far away. And that,” she pointed at the blue box, “Is the TARDIS. She’s a spaceship in disguise, she travels through time and space. Oh, and she’s obviously bigger on the inside.”

Dave fell down in the armchair, clearly struggling to swallow it all in. “How… How did you two meet again?”

The Doctor rubbed his thumb against the smooth skin of her hand. “Fate brought us together,” he declared, judging better than to explain how he had run into echoes of his daughter before meeting the actual her – he presumed he would be extra mad over the fact that his daughter had sacrificed herself in order to save him, even if he had managed to get her back to life. “Now we travel the universe together.”

He rested his head on his palm, processing everything. “How dangerous is it?”

“Very dangerous,” the Doctor was merciless, “But no more dangerous than what happens right here down on Earth.”

He locked eyes with Clara, worry written all over his face. “Now that you’re disabled, you’re quitting on this _madness_ , right?!”

Despite protests, Clara moved to a sitting position, her eyes burning with fire. “I am not _disabled,_ daddy. I might be wounded, scarred even, but I will not let my condition get in the way of living my life. As long as the Doctor allows me, I will carry on traveling the stars. I will carry on _living._ ”

The Doctor placed his hand on her back, simultaneously trying to support her and to get her to lie back down. She was too stubborn, however, to follow his inclination, not to his astonishment. “You know you’re welcome aboard the TARDIS as long as you’d like, Clara.”

Dave got back up, angrily, his footsteps heavy against the floor. “Why are you encouraging this erratic behavior of hers? Why am I the only one sane here?”

“Don’t worry, you’re just as sane as I am,” the alien grunted, causing Clara to chuckle. Their Harry Potter marathon a few weeks before had been worth something, at least. “Listen, Clara is a strong independent woman. She’s capable of making her own choices and dealing with the consequences of them; she knows what’s best for herself. I will support whatever her decision might be, and if she chooses the life amongst the stars, then I’ll bring down the stars for her, if it comes to it.”

Dave ran his hand through his hair, trying to block from his vision how her dimple came to life at his last sentence. “Don’t I at least get a saying?”

“Of course you do, you’re my dad,” she clarified, leaning against the Doctor, who was now sitting right behind her, due to her silent request.

“Then, for the record, I am completely against you wandering off the universe with some alien-human guy,” he snorted, crossing his arms.

“Noted,” she bounced her head, “And he’s not human, he just resembles one. He’s even got an extra heart. Here, feel it for yourself.”

The Doctor caught her wrists just before she touched his chest. He couldn’t let her feel his _hearts,_ not ever again. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go around offering my chest to unacquainted people, Clara.”

“Right, sorry,” she quickly apologized, tugging herself back into his embrace.

Dave sunk down the chair once more, another thought suddenly coming to his mind, “What happened to my car?”

“It’s still where you left it,” the Doctor shuddered.

“My keys were still in the ignition.”

His straight face turned into a frown. “Then it probably isn’t where you left it anymore.”

“Doctor,” Clara scolded him, all that she meant implicit within her tone.

He wrinkled his nose, “ _Fine,_ I’ll take you back in time to retrieve it.”

“Thank you,” Clara claimed on her father’s behalf.

The Doctor nodded, neither of them willing to make the effort to leave each other’s embrace.


	11. Back to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor goes back in time. He needs to be there for Clara during the accident.

It was past midnight when Clara finally managed to fall asleep.

The Doctor hadn’t left her side ever since he had brought her home – apart from the lift he was obliged to give to her father, but he was sure to come back seconds within her timestream. Bringing her dinner as well, assuming she was sick of hospital food; and he knew there probably wouldn’t be any eatable food at her place.

Clara had been thrilled at the sight of some actual meal, even if she was on a strict diet and wasn’t allowed the  _ good tasting  _ aliments she was so fond of. He couldn’t hide his happy expression as he saw her devour an entire bowl of salad at the sound of one of his tales from across the universe.

She had been pretty adamant about showering on her own, to his dislike, although he had no alternative than to allow her the space she needed. Even if he was still unable to unglue his ear from the bathroom door, just in case she would call for him – which, obviously, she didn’t. From the great amount of time spent there, he could only guess it had been ages since her last proper bath.

She came out of there wearing a black rope, limping, eyes shamefully and silently asking for him to relief her from her own weight. He helped her into bed, changing the bandage on her leg whilst prompting they should get inside the TARDIS so he could take better care of it, but her expression at the mere idea of the long journey’s exhaustion was already enough of an answer. He chose to give it slow massages instead, which seemed sufficient to alleviate the soreness.

Clara curled up next to his alien body in her king size bed, and somehow the telly ended up on some silly romcom, to which the Doctor failed to crack a smile , not even once, but would still feel her chuckling against him. Until she stopped, and he found her fast asleep just as the clock marked ten after midnight.

The Doctor was just watching her sleep. She looked peaceful, at last, tugged under two layers of blankets - she had been complaining about how constantly cold she was ever since she got  _ his  _ heart. Her hair was messily falling onto her face and her lips were slightly open.

He carefully moved her head away from his shoulder to a less hard surface, praying she wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t. He wrapped the covers even tighter around her, giving her the sensation that he was still there. He felt  _ guilty.  _ Guilty he wasn’t there next to her to save her and now she was suffering the consequences of his absence. And he endured her struggle down to his own chest.

He stole one last look at her, before heading back to his time machine parked in her living room. He got inside, being greeted by her silence, for she  _ knew  _ what he was about to do, and she didn’t get a saying. The Doctor’s brows knitted together in his face as he pulled down the lever, taking deep breaths  _ not to lose his mind. _

The moment the TARDIS landed, he stepped into a hazy morning in London. Whether was it the weather or just the perception of what happened that day, what was  _ still  _ to happen, he couldn’t tell. Neither did he know why he had come there, he just knew he  _ had  _ to see it for himself.

His face got lost within the others passing by. She wouldn’t be able to see him, but he would never miss her. His eyes were fixed on the not so cramped road ahead as the loud motor of a car penetrated his ears. And then, he saw  _ her. _

Clara didn’t seem to be traveling past limit, but she was still going fast. And yet, not even half as fast as the car a few yards behind her. Even though he already knew what was bound to happen, the Doctor wasn’t mentally prepared for the moment he saw the car hit her on the back and send her flying across the pavement.  _ Presumably dead. _

His heart ached inside of his chest, his heart tying up in knots. Somehow, it was suddenly  _ impossible  _ to breathe.

There was only one thing he knew for sure; when he saw the driver tipsily trip out of his car, not a single scratch on him, he couldn’t let him anywhere near his hanging by a thread companion.

The Doctor rushed his way through the now immobile cars, frozen because of them, because of  _ her.  _ He didn’t have a hard time locating her, stuck underneath a motorcycle twice her size, god knows how many times her weight. He fell on his knees next to her.

Her body was convulsing, but she wasn’t having a seizure – or at least he assumed she wasn’t. He tried to assess her injuries with his eyes, but there was just too much blood, even if he already knew all her wounds.

A crowd was beginning to form around the injured woman; he didn’t know whether they were there out of curiosity or just desiring to help. Being already too familiar with humans, he concluded the former. His brain was running so fast he was uncertain if he should help her or get them away first.

He eyed the closest man. “You! Phone 999,  _ now _ ! And get all these people out of here.”

The Doctor didn’t even wait for confirmation before he turned back to her. He looked at her and he had no idea  _ how  _ to help her. More than ever, he just wished he could bring her fragile self into the TARDIS and  _ save  _ her, just like she had saved him so many times. For a few milliseconds, he just watched her struggle to stay alive.

“We should get her out of there,” someone said, taking him a while to track down the source of the voice.

“No,” he quickly stated, finally bracing himself to study her torso stuck underneath the bike. He could see a sharp piece of metal stabbing her right in the chest as he felt his own bust hurting. “If we get her out, she will bleed to death. I’m not going to let that happen.”

Even if he knew she was going to live, being there next to her made him just as scared as he had been when he first saw her in that ICU room. He wanted to touch her, to  _ feel her alive,  _ but he was terrified at the idea he could distress her even further.

He was taken aback by the sudden sound of her coughing.  _ Oh god,  _ he had assumed she was knocked unconscious after she hit the floor. His despair only grew at the idea of all the pain she was enduring.  _ He had to help her. _

Carefully, he removed the helmet from her, laying her head gently against the ground. Her eyes were shut and he wasn’t surprised to see the blood leaking out of her mouth. He whispered words of comfort to her, but she didn’t appear to have heard them. Too busy just trying to remain alive.

The Doctor could listen to the sirens in the far distance, causing him to squeeze his eyes in attempts of seeing them approaching; he didn’t. When he locked eyes with her again, her eyelids were open, and yet her pupils didn’t seem to be processing any images of her surroundings. Tenderly, he took her hand on his, giving it a strong and tight hold. For now, he didn’t need her to know  _ he was there,  _ he just needed her to know she wasn’t  _ alone. _

He saw the paramedics nearing, kneeling next to her, but he made no effort to leave. They placed an oxygen mask on her, and for the first time, she eased down a little. He could have only guessed how hard it was for her to do a simple task as breathing. Then, they slipped her neck into an extrication collar, presumptively so she wouldn’t have her head fall off from the rest of her body.

“Ma’am? Stay calm, we’re going to get you out of there. What’s your name?” the younger man pleaded, but when Clara’s chin began to shake, he doubted it was in attempts of saying her name. 

So the Doctor became her voice. “Clara. Her name is Clara.”

His presence there appeared to be just noticed. “And you are…?”

“I’m her friend,” he spoke fast, before they tried to get rid of him, “I’m a doctor.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, he still had a degree from Glasgow university. They evaluated him for a brief time, “Fine. You just get her to stay calm while we free her.”

The Doctor nodded, shakenly removing dark hair locks from her face. “Alright, Clara, I need you to pay attention to me,” he instructed, his voice betraying his confidence. He waited for some sort of confirmation from her, but it never came. “We’re going to free you now, and I’m not going to lie, it’s going to hurt like hell.”

He paused, knowing the paramedics to be working on the best way to save her. He swallowed hard, “Your injuries are being held together by the motorcycle, and when we remove it, they’re going to become messy. It’s going to hurt like hell, and you’re going to feel like fainting, but you can’t. You hear me, Clara?  _ You have to stay awake. _ ”

If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn he saw her consenting. He heard a countdown and the bike was lifted in the air. Clara gasped at the sudden removal of the weight above her, and the Doctor was quick to put his hands on her now open wounds, trying to impede her from losing any more blood. His attempts barely made any difference. “Easy, Clara, just  _ breathe _ .”

She started coughing again,  _ because the piercing got to her lungs too.  _ One of the paramedics removed the mask from her face, so she wouldn’t choke on her own blood. The Doctor carried on applying pressure to her chest as they slipped a hard spinal board underneath her. He saw her wince in pain at the abrupt movement.

It didn’t take her much to fall into unconsciousness, the tears immediately starting to pile up in the corner of his own eyes.


	12. Remember Her Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a little encounter with the man responsible for Clara's accident.

“What’s going to happen to the guy who hit her?” the Doctor pondered, helping them raise the bunk in the air, into the ambulance.

“Dunno,” the older guy spoke up, the bus starting to gain speed with all of them inside. “The police is there with him, but it depends mostly on her.”

“Depends whether she lives or dies,” the Doctor concluded the implicit.

“That and if she wants to press charges, should she live,” he agreed, connecting her to wires as the other one pumped oxygen into her lungs. Soon, her heart rhythm was beating on a screen; almost nonexistent, but it was _there._

And then, it wasn’t.

“Grab the paddles! Charge to 100!” one demanded to the other. The Doctor was almost losing his temper at how calm they were, _like she was no more than a routine._

“Charged. Sir, get away from her.”

He shook his head. He wouldn’t take away his hands, not when they were her only chance of not bleeding to death. Besides, the electrocution would barely cause him any harm. “Ignore me. Just do it already.”

“Sir, you’re going to get shocked—”

“ _Do it!_ ”

They did. Once, twice, until they got her back. The Doctor made a face at the sudden wave of electricity flying through his veins, but never once did he flinch and let go of her. The humans were stunned, “What the _heck_ are you?”

His eyes burned. “I’m the man who’s going to turn this world inside out of it means guaranteeing her survival.”

* * *

 

The moment they arrived at the hospital, the Doctor was kicked out of the AE so they could take proper care of Clara.

Sinking down at some random chair, he buried his head on his hands; his hands dirty with _her blood._ Although he already knew what would happen from then on, he was _scared._ He was terrified that something could happen to her in the long run and she would fade away from him.

When he managed to straighten his face, the blood angrily thumped through his vessels. His eyes burned with fire at the sight of _him,_ her attacker, sitting in a bed, just staring at the void, apparently waiting for something inciting to happen. He got up, knowing he had to leave before he did something stupid. But, of course, his stupidity beat his rationality.

He approached a woman next to him, wearing a police uniform and _guarding_ him. He asked, “Is he still drunk?”

She eyed him suspiciously, but made no question regarding his identity. “A little. They’re giving him fluids to sober him up.”

The Doctor nodded, judging him to be lucid enough to hear from him. He had no intention of going easy on him. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrific,” his voice didn’t hold any sight of humor, “Blessed to be alive and unharmed. Lucky am I, ern? To have survived it without a single scar.”

“Very lucky,” his tone, however, was filled with sarcasm, “Too bad you can’t say the same about her.”

He threw his hands in the air, “That’s her issue, not mine.”

“How is that not your issue?!” he raised both his brows simultaneously, pointing his index towards the room he had just been kicked out of, “She’s in there because of _you,_ because you thought your life was worth more than hers. Because you were an arrogant eejit!”

He jerked back, in a defensive position. “She was in my way, riding that little bike of hers like she owned the bloody world. She deserves what she’s got!”

“She doesn’t own the world, she owns the whole entire _universe,_ ” he wasn’t talking metaphorically, the fury coming out of his pores, “She doesn’t deserve this, she doesn’t deserve to have her life taken away because a privileged white male decided to drunkenly get inside a car with the only purpose of getting someone killed!”

“I didn’t mean to get her killed, alright!” he screamed, receiving looks from the medical intern who was silently just hearing them. He let out a breath, “I was drunk, I _still_ am. You can’t blame me for something I had no control over!”

The Doctor whiffed, “Of course I can blame you, no one forced you to get inside that car. Drunk or not, you’re responsible for your choices, and she’s the one suffering the consequences of your irresponsibility!”

The young man’s eyes suddenly became brightly wet. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he melancholically cried, “What’s going to happen to me now?”

“No, that’s not the right question,” he pointed his finger right at his face, “You have to start questioning yourself, _is she going to live?_ And you better pray that she does, or I’ll make sure to send you to hell myself; _trust me,_ I’m the only man who can honor this promise.”

He didn’t know whether the man was crying because of the alcohol or because of the guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The Doctor clenched his fists in order to remain patient. “Clara Oswald. Remember the name, _Clara Oswald._ She’s going to follow you everywhere, every time you find yourself inside a car, or drinking a shot, or simply unable to sleep at night. You will remember her name, remember all the pain you’ve inflicted, not just on her, but on every person who loves her. The memory of her will _haunt_ you until the day you die.”

“Sir, I think you should go now,” the female officer interfered, judging the situation to be getting out of control.

He agreed with his head, knowing her to be right, but unable of walking out just yet. “She was 29. _Just_ 29 years old when you ruined her life.”

“How many times will I have to say that I’m sorry?” he snapped, on the edge of a breakdown.

“As many as you’d like, because _sorry_ won’t help her. Sorry won’t heal her!” he shouted. Getting everyone in the AE to stare at him; he didn’t care. “Listen, I don’t know how Clara will handle this _when_ she recovers, if she’ll press charges or not. I don’t know. Clara can be too kind when she doesn’t have to and too vile when she has to, but I sincerely hope what feels right for her is getting some justice for what _you_ did. It won’t be enough for what you’ve put her through, but it’ll be enough for her.”

With no further notice, he wandered away, but not before taking one last look at the room his companion was at. When he was welcomed by the sunlight, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket. At first, he only intended to drop his past self a message to come to the hospital; but then, it hit him.

Her family had no idea how Clara’s day would end up to be.

With shaky hands, he searched his phone for Dave Oswald’s number; Clara’s phone had been obviously broken during the crash and she wouldn’t be around so soon to provide them any personal calls, so he braced himself for the very unpleasant conversation he was about to have.

“Hello?”

The Doctor was taken aback by the voice in his ear. He was about to ruin an entire family’s life, and even though he had already done it, _so many times,_ this time it was _personal._ It wasn’t until he was called upon again that he stepped out of his daze, “Hi, I’m calling on behalf of Clara Oswald.”

He could hear the panic growing in his breaths alone. “Clara? Where is she? Is everything alright with her?”

“No, Mr. Oswald,” his voice was starting to turn on him, “Clara’s been in an accident and she was brought to the hospital. It… it isn’t looking good, sir.”

The other side of the line seemed dead for an eternity. “What hospital is she at?”

The Doctor rambled the name out, being able to only guess the déjà vu he must have been feeling after being told for the _second_ time that one of the woman he loved most was on the edge of being taken away from him.

“Is she… Is she still alive?” the tears were clearly hearable through the phone, “Please, just tell me the truth, I can handle it. Actually, I can’t, but I’ve got to know anyway.”

“She’s not dead,” he was simple and vague, listening to him sighing in relief. He didn’t have to go into detail that Clara had coded, _twice._

“Will she stay alive until I get there?”

“I hope so,” he didn’t bother himself with white lies. “The medical doctors are doing everything they can.”

“I’ll be right over.”

The moment the line went dead, he let his phone slip from his hand and fall to the ground. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to see Clara for himself before she would die on him, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many have been the people wondering what Clara's reaction is going to be once she finds out to whom the heart inside of her belongs. so I'd like to hear it from you, what do you think will happen when she finally learns? :)


	13. Invisible Links

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everything his heart felt, hers felt it too. Like some sort of invisible link, their hearts shared a bound no other heart could ever understand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, I absolutely loved hearing what you all think Clara's reaction will be once she finally learns :)

When the Doctor arrived in her flat, the early rays of sunshine were already starting to break through the window. He mentally cussed both him and his time machine for the time delay; he dreaded to spend any minute away from his recovering companion.

He walked into her room silently, doing his best not to wake her up. But he couldn’t do so, _not_ when she wasn’t even in her bed in the first place. “Clara?”

He found her on the floor, her back leaned against the mattress, legs stiffly thrown around her. It was still dark, he couldn’t see her face properly, but he couldn’t miss her eyes shut for dear life, alongside a damp path down her reddened cheeks. “Clara…?”

By the time she finally acknowledged his presence, her eyes were already fulfilled with panic. “Something’s wrong, Doctor.”

Careful not to startle her any further, he kneeled in front of her, taking her hand into his. “What are you feeling, Clara?”

He saw her chin slightly tremble, although he couldn’t tell whether it was because of her attempts to find words or just out of pure fear. “I-it hurts.”

Using one palm to cup her jawline, he placed the other against the fabric that hid the scar of her incision. The Doctor could feel the unsteady rhythm of her heart; a rhythm he knew all too well; it was the same that had beat inside his chest when he was next to her at the crash site.

For the first time, he understood. Her present was his past; she was hurting because of his own suffering. Everything his heart felt, _hers_ felt it too. Like some sort of invisible link, _their hearts_ shared a bound no other heart could ever understand. At first, he assumed those weird sensations were simply the result of the changes his body underwent, now, he _knew_ it was the feelings that came from her body and mind. He concluded she was at loss with her sensations the same away, although she _couldn’t_ put the two things together.

And, in that moment, she was suffering all the pain he felt when next to her _lifeless_ body in the road. “I’m sorry, Clara. I’m so sorry.”

She blinked droplets out of her eyeballs. “Please just make it stop. _Please_.”

“I don’t know how to,” he cried out, praying to all the gods he knew about that his feelings wouldn’t end up getting her dead. She had already lost so much; he refused to let her lose it to death as well. “How long has it been like this?”

“The pounding started about twenty minutes ago” she was quick to say, believing the sooner she let it all out, the faster he would be able to help her, “I woke up to find you gone. It didn’t hurt at first, it was just uncomfortable, so I intended to go to the living room to find you, but I couldn’t; my leg betrayed me and led me to the floor. I couldn’t move and my heart became tighter inside of me. I can’t _breathe,_ Doctor, please just help me breathe.”

Holding her by the shoulder, he gesticulated for her to follow his breathing pattern. He pressed his forehead against hers, his pupils penetrating hers as he mumbled the only words he knew how to pronounce, “I’m so sorry, Clara.”

She bit down on her lip, focusing herself on him instead of the thudding against her inner walls; he was her rock. “What’s happening to me, Doctor?”

He heard the despair written all over her voice, but he couldn’t, not just yet. Not ever. “Emotions, Clara. You’ve had a very emotional day,” he speculated. They were close to being one only. His fears and scares were hers, too.

The tears were now descending freely her apple bones. “I don’t understand.”

He gently picked her up in his arms, laying her back in bed. She didn’t settle until she found herself in a sitting position, her wounded leg resting rigidly atop of his own tights. She appeared to be a little comfier, at least. “Clara, not only do you have to habituate yourself to your heart, your heart must get used to you as well. These things take time.”

She nodded her head, trying to follow him. “It wasn’t like this at the hospital.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” he forced a smile, “There, you were being constantly monitored, you were under care, going by the book at every single angle,” he paused for a while. “This is your time, Clara. Time to start living again, to start all over from scratch. This is your golden hour, Clara.”

She whiffed, trying to come closer to his body. “I don’t know how to get my life back, Doctor,” her words were no more than whispers hushed to the night.

“Yes, you do,” he stated, fingertips slightly touching the bare incision on her leg, caressing it to relieve some of the soreness. “It’s just a matter of accepting your reality. Accepting the beating heart inside your chest. If you don’t, that piece of muscle will start rejecting you. Slowly and gradually dying, and taking you with it.”

Her lips were half open, letting go of the air coming through them. “You’re saying that it’s hurting because it’s having a hard time adjusting itself to me?”

“In a sense,” he agreed, hating the wetness across the skin of her face. “You have to embrace it, Clara. You have to embrace yourself.”

“But I am,” she uttered, “I take my meds every day, I have a healthy diet, I even exercise despite of my injuries. I’m doing everything I can to stay alive. Staying alive wasn’t supposed to be this _hard._ ”

Their bodies’ proximity was increasing by the second. “Your physical struggle means nothing if you’re losing the battle inside your mind.”

He could feel her warm breath against his face. “I’m trying, Doctor, I really am. It’s easier said than done.”

He rested his hands against her jawline. “Clara… Something awful has happened to you, something you’ll suffer the consequences for the rest of your life. It sucks, yeah, but there’s no escape to it. It wasn’t your fault to crash like that, so you can’t blame yourself. You just have to come to terms with it.”

Clara was resentful of staring at his eyes but unable to turn her gaze away. “Someone had to die so I could live, Doctor, how is that any fair?” she sniffed, hands shakenly holding him by the lapels of his tee, “I’ve asked to meet the donor’s family, to give them thanks, give them my _respect_ , but apparently they don’t want to have any contact with me. I don’t even know why that’s bothering me so much, it just is.”

The Doctor had no idea when in their conversation she had ended up in his lap, not that he minded it. He could hear the survivor’s guilt in her voice, and for a moment, he even considered telling her the truth. The thought was soon erased by his mind; she could never know, she would be so mad if she ever found out. Their relationship was built from the unsaid — the hidden truth wouldn’t make a difference.

“Clara, they would have died whether you got their heart or not,” he claimed, offering her a white lie, “They refuse to meet you because you remind them too much of their lost one. You’re the only lasting part of what was once a life. Just give them a while, perhaps one day they will have coped enough to get to know you, to understand that heart didn’t go to waste.”

“‘kay,” she mumbled, doing her best to believe his words. She laid her chin across his shoulder, her neck curve fitting right into his.

The Doctor let her body energy flow to his. She seemed peaceful, at last, and that pleased him; eased him down. Hence why he couldn’t understand the reason her muscles suddenly became rigid and her entire body jerked back.

" _Clara?!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, I wasn't so sure of this idea of their hearts still being connected even beating in different chests. However, my friend told me she saw somewhere in a classic who episode or a comic book - she doesn't remember - of how the Doctor once was separated of one of his hearts, but still felt everything that heart felt, so I just embraced it. Let me know what you think!


	14. Beyond Physical Barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara doesn't understand from where those feelings and sensations that don't belong to her are coming.

“ _Clara_?!”

The moment the Doctor pulled away, he saw her face frozen. Taken so aback she hadn’t even had the chance to realize what had struck her. Completely lucid and yet totally out of synch with her own body. Her chest was raising up and down so rapidly he could have sworn her heart was threatening to jump out of her torso. _Dying on him._

The Doctor laid her back in bed and _it hit him._ He had no control anymore over the salty water dripping out of his eyes. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Clara. I did this. I did this to you…!” he cried, the memories of his refusal to let go of her when the paramedics were about to shock her after she had coded coming back to his mind. _He was causing her death._

He saw her eyes going from numbness to terror in nothing further than two blinks. Her chin began to shake, but he doubted she was trying to say anything. Trapped somewhere between her physical prison and her conscious self. All because he had been too _ignorant_ to realize that _her heart felt the same as his._

“Forgive me, Clara, please forgive me” he pleaded, unsure if the wetness on her face originated from her own eyes or from the tears that fell from his cheeks to hers. He could see her wincing in pain before his inability to help her. He couldn’t do any more than to hold her hand.

The second time it came to her, it was stronger. Of course, the paramedics had to increase the electrical charge to bring her back to life. It could have been helpful back then, but it was _killing her_ in that precise moment. He watched in horror as her body twitched underneath him, never ending the vision contact so, at least, she would know she wasn’t _alone._

Clara let out moans escape her lips, but she was unsure she had intended to gasp them. The oxygen was stuck in her throat; she struggled to breath, her heart beating just as fast as light speed. She knew she had to calm herself before she had a heart attack, although it was nearly impossible when she had no control over her own body. For once, she regretted being too stubborn to listen to her father and staying in the hospital for at least another week.

It took her a while to finally be able to start moving again. Briefly, painfully; at least she wasn’t frozen within her body, for that was the worst sensation. Even though she didn’t feel like moving at all. She was ready to _sleep forever._

But she couldn’t, not when the Doctor was staring at her like she was both the most precious and the most fragile thing in the whole universe. She _hated_ being stared at like that.

“Ouch,” she managed to utter after some time, her eyes petrified. She wanted the pain to stop, she wanted the darkness to swallow her in before she _exploded._ If she was going to experience that often with the new piece of flesh inside of her, then she wished she hadn’t lived at all.

“Clara?” he called for her, his voice fulfilled with worry and despair. He was terrified that he would _break her_ if he dared to touch her, but he did it anyway, needing to feel her _alive._ “Can you hear me, Clara?”

He had no idea whether she was nodding or trembling. When he placed his hand on her heart, it beat too fast for his liking. He knew his gallifreyan heart was a little stronger than a human one, that it had higher pain levels, and it could have been _so much worse,_ but he doubted her body would be able to sustain that speed for too long, “You have to calm down.”

She didn’t know how to. She was too horrified, too frightened to ease either her mind or body. The control freak had no control over her own self. Her face was lying sideways against the pillow, and for once, she was glad she didn’t have to look at his eyes; she was already scared enough as it is.

Unfamiliar to any other way to assist her, he threw his body next to hers against the soft mattress. He brought her near him, not only providing her some comfort, but allowing her heart some familiarity as well. He could only hope such familiarity would bring her some sort of peace.

Clara made no effort to move, her body curves somehow fitting perfect onto his. Gradually, the shivering came to an end and she could finally _breathe_ again. Her heart was joining the same rhythm as his, mimicking it. “Something’s not right, Doctor.”

“I know,” his voice was just as hoarse as hers. Providing some human heat, he allowed himself to dig deeper into the lies; he was already too emerged on his untruthfulness.

“I’m scared,” she confessed, her words never truly daring to leave her lips. She doubted she actually needed to say what he already knew she was feeling down to her soul.

“I know,” he repeated, “I’m scared too.”

“What’s going to happen to me next? What _just_ happened to me?” she was desperate, longing for answers but dreading to hear them.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, rubbing the tip of his finger against her smooth human skin. “Once you’re feeling a little less shaky, I’ll take you to the TARDIS and we’ll narrow the possibilities down. I promise I’ll save you, Clara.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she sniffed, seeing herself on the very edge of a self destruction pit and she was the only one impeding herself from falling down. “I might be beyond TARDIS help.”

“In that case, I’ll take you to the best high-tech medical facility in all of time and space,” he guaranteed, a snob grin taking over his face. “There’s nothing standing between you and your condition, just yourself, Clara.”

“I don’t want to die, of course I don’t,” she declared, finally finding enough strength to snuggle closer to him, “I’m terrified that the next time I close my eyes might be the last.”

“I won’t let you sleep forever, that you can have my word,” he asserted, embracing her inside his alien arms.

Clara could feel the vein of his neck thundering against her cheek. “Don’t be silly, you can’t save me from death. Not me, not anybody. Just yourself.”

He shook his head, despising the idea of outliving her, no matter how scared of dying he was. “I’ll live as long as you, Clara. Not one day more, not one day less. You and I, Clara, we’re just one and one only.”

She smiled against his skin. “That’s sweet. Thanks for lying, Doctor.”

Although he hadn’t exactly been lying about _that_ , he nodded, undesiring to aboard a conversation he was bound to lose. Remaining silent, he just allowed her to tug deeper inside of his hold.

“I don’t know why I’m so exhausted,” she grumbled, fighting to keep her eyelids open. She let out a pathetic laugh, “I’ve been doing nothing for the past month or so, except sleep.”

The Doctor absolutely disliked how she put herself down, but that wasn’t the time for lectures. “Recovering isn’t easy. It drains all of your energy. Being exhausted is a good thing, it means your body hasn’t given up the fight, Clara.”

She let her body rest quietly, huddled next to him, agreeing. “I wish we could lie right here forever. Our fears can’t get to us here.”

He could sense her warm breath circling around his neck. “Wouldn’t that be a waste of potential?”

“I guess,” she mumbled, sleepily. “We’d be safe, at least.”

“And who would save us from ourselves?”

Clara didn’t say a word; perhaps because she didn’t have an answer, perhaps because she had already succumbed to self defeat. “Do we have to go to the TARDIS already?”

The Doctor judged best not to comment on her coping mechanism of changing the subject. “It’s up to you. Are you feeling any stronger? Any sore?”

“I don’t want to move,” she expressed what he already knew, “It’s painful to move.”

“I could carry you, if you want.”

She seemed to consider it for a few seconds. “Will it hurt less, in there?”

He pressed his lips firmly against her temples. “Probably.”

Clara nodded, timidly. “Okay.”

For the first time, he moved away from her as she stood perfectly still. He was careful to raise her in the air, quaking at the idea of perturbing her any further. Instead, she looked rather comfortable in his arms.

It didn’t take him long to be wandering the insides of the TARDIS, where Clara prompted, “Have you lost your way inside the TARDIS again, Doctor?”

He appeared to be offended by her accusation, “Of course I haven’t,” he groaned, “The TARDIS just thinks we’re playing hide and seek.”

She grinned, holding him by the tee, “She still can’t like me, can she.”

“No,” he was quick to interfere, knowing the machine to be just showing her disapproval towards all he had done for her. All he was still doing. “She’s just annoying.”

As he finally made it to the medical bay, he laid her on the unusually soft mattress. Clara buried her head deep down the cushions, the Doctor pulling the velvet over her body. From the way her features had lightened up, he could only assume the pain of all that _he had felt_ was at last sliding out of her.

“Are you going to fix me now, Doctor?” she asked, daintily, as terrifiedly as the cry of a child amidst the darkness of the night.

“I’m going to try,” he confessed. There wasn’t much to fix when most of the repair had already been made; her body was already upgrading itself. “Will you tell your doctor what’s been bothering you?”

Clara held back a laugh at the analogy he decided to aboard. “It really hurts to walk. I don’t think I’m going to be able to run anytime soon, if _ever_ again,” her voice was slow and steady, her eyes focusing on a point right past him, “My ribs still haven’t completely healed, so it’s hard to breathe at night.”

The Doctor eyed her compassionately, “You never told me your ribs were still hurting, Clara.”

“I didn’t want to be any more of a burden,” she shrugged, not letting him say anything else, “I feel cold all the time, my hands are always freezing, and they used to be all warm. I get all these sorts of emotions and sensations that I have no idea where they’re from. It’s like there’s someone else living inside of me.”

Tenderly, he ran his hand through her hair, his face sustaining its numbness. What lies were still left to tell her? “Your mind is out of sync with your new body. It’s probably going to take a while until both of them start working alright together.”

She visibly pushed the air out of her lips, “Well, I’m tired of not being in control of my own emotions,” she spat, “And what did just happen to me? That hurt, Doctor, way more than chemical reactions floating in me. Does that mean I’m rejecting my new heart?”

Although he had her answers, he couldn’t just blurt them out. Instead, he whispered, “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

Her eyes looked drained as they followed his hands towards her temples. Clara nodded her approval before the Doctor induced her to a deep state of sleep; a dreamless one, but he didn’t doubt her subconscious would come up with their own dreams.

“Goodnight, Clara.”


	15. Spacey Hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes Clara to the best hospital in the entire universe to fix her physical wounds.

“Clara, wake up.”

Clara Oswald turned over in bed and tossed the covers over her head. She didn’t want to move, not just yet, not when her bed was embracing her in its warmth and comfort. She grunted some inaudible sounds as she sank her head deeper into the pillow of her arms.

“Come on, Clara,” the Doctor cried, dropping on his arse by the edge of the bed. “Don’t you ever get bored of sleeping? You’ve been knocked out for over seven hours.”

He wasn’t surprised when she threw the cushions at him. He looked down on her, rolling his eyes at how she had already set herself ready to fall asleep again. “’You’re sleeping in the TARDIS, it’s not like I can pop ahead to some time you sleeping beauty have decided to wake up.”

Clara moaned, refusing to believe he wouldn’t leave her alone. “I’m _wounded._ I need rest to heal.”

The Doctor tapped his foot impatiently against the floor. “You’ve just gone home after an entire month lying in a hospital bed. Aren’t you tired of resting?”

Trying to suppress a yawn and failing, she finally dared to open her eyes. She regretted doing so the moment she noticed his crossed face and brows. “I’m not resting _yet,_ Doctor.”

Abruptly, he pulled the blanket away from her, causing her to squeeze into a fetal position. Stiffly, but she seemed to ignore her body’s restrictions. “You have the entire universe underneath your hands and instead you want to sleep to death?”

She aimed to strike him with her good leg, missing it miserably. “In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have the luxury of running through the stars anymore. Not unless you let me rest.”

He sighed, annoyedly, trying to pull her up by the arm. “That’s why I judged better to start with the best hospital at the end of the universe. They’d be able to get your leg back in one piece; I’ve even scheduled you an appointment – it’s got a thirty-seven years waiting list. Now, we don't want to be too late, do we.”

Gradually, a smile took over her lips. “If we ask nicely, the TARDIS might make us right on time.”

He humorlessly chuckled, “That’s on your own risk. I’m just saying I _refuse_ to wait yet another thirty-seven years.”

Clara grinned to herself, making it to a sitting position. The Doctor had no alternative rather than ease down his crossness when facing her soft features. “Alright, let’s not be late then. Help me change?”

He nodded, getting up in order to retrieve her an outfit. He picked up randomly the first thing he found in her closet, neither did she make a fuss about it. Those days, she was all for wearing whatever felt comfortable.

As she sat on the edge of the bed, he pulled down her trousers. For a moment, he only let his fingertips caress her scar, studying it, feeling it to his soul. “They did a nasty job on your leg.”

She didn’t know whether to sadly nod or see the best out of it. She did neither, “Yeah, well, human primitive medicine.”

He didn’t find her words amusing. He traced lines up and down several times, knowing the simple touch not to hurt her so much; walking was the real struggle. He assumed the ugly scar was bothering her just as much as it bothered him. “Luckily, they’ll fix it.”

She offered him a genuine smile, “No high-tech medicine can undo the harm, Doctor.”

“You underestimate them, Clara,” he conjectured, finally stepping out of his daze and pulling the sweat pants up her wait. Then, he turned around to give her privacy to change her blouse.

“Can you grab my crutches, please?” she asked quietly, eyeing them against the opposite wall. She had no recollection of how either her aid or herself ended up in her room; the Doctor’s work, probably. She thanked him for his effort before getting up as well and leading the way towards the exit door.

* * *

 

Clara gasped at the sight of the hospital ahead of her.

“Are you sure we’re not at some intergalactic station?” she enquired, slightly leaning against the Doctor. The whiteness of the place was calming, peaceful; it didn’t even tire her from the thought of all the walking she would have to do in order to arrive at wherever they were headed.

The Doctor looked smug, “Pretty amazing, hm?” he incited. “This is the dream job of every doctor ever. You have to be on duty for at least one hundred years just to be considered for hiring.”

She nodded suspiciously, “Quantity doesn’t mean quality, Doctor.”

He shrugged to himself, “Medicine is all about experience, Clara. Would you rather have a just graduated physician or a senior one?”

“A senior one, of course,” she agreed, “But _a hundred years_ is too much. I _really_ wouldn’t want a one hundred years old human doctor taking care of me.”

“Trust me, you’re not going to be treated by a _decaying_ doctor,” he argued, feeling the urge to cut off his own leg to give to her, so she would be able to walk properly.

Although she’d still end up with a limp, for their height difference was too big.

The two of them made their way to the reception, where Clara was offered a wheelchair. Much to her dislike, however the Doctor had a fair point on how he refused to carry her through the acres of hospital halls if she grew tired from the walking. He had been lying, of course, but she fell for it anyway. After that, they were taken to a lift and teleported to her already set room. Clara made sure to give him hell for all the effort she didn’t get the chance to _miss._

Wordlessly, the Doctor instructed her to hop up onto the exam table first. At first, Clara could only frown at its height; she refused to ask for his help, though, as she climbed over it. The medical doctor soon joined them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Oswald, hello, I’m Dr. Spract and I’m here to assess you today,” he introduced himself as Clara glanced at the Doctor delightfully at his _surname,_ and he shrugged in response. At least Oswald sounded better than Smith, she thought to herself. “How can I help you today?”

“She was in an accident,” the Doctor explained, trading looks between the two of them, “The prognostic wasn’t good and the local hospital did a _terrible_ job on her.”

The doctor waited for some confirmation of hers; she nodded. “Alright then, let’s take a look at what they’ve done to you, Mrs. Oswald.”

If Clara had any intention of verbalizing what had happened to her, she was silenced by a gadget being brought upon her. Although she didn’t ask, she concluded it to be analyzing every one of her injuries, perhaps even the story behind them. “You’ve been through quite a lot, young lady.”

Once again, she nodded, “It’s been quite a road, I must say.”

He agreed, “You know, this little device tells us everything we want to know, but we still like to hear our patient’s insight. So, is there anything you’d like to tell us? Anything.”

Clara took a long breath, thinking carefully on where she should start. “It hurts to breathe at night, because of the broken ribs, I think. My leg really bothers me whenever I’m doing anything but resting. It’s infuriating being stuck all day long,” she paused for a bit. “And my heart… my _new_ heart… I don’t even know how to put it. I’ve had all these weird sensations, like I’m not in control of my own self. I feel like there’s another living being inside of me.”

The man listened to her carefully, “That’s reasonable. You haven’t learned how to deal with a heart that is not yours. Those things take time.”

Clara shook her head. “No, it’s not that. My new heart feels just right, it’s everything else that feels… odd.”

He acknowledged with his head, eyeing the other alien man but he didn’t even flinch. He instructed her to lie down the moment she had put on the gown he handed her. Dr. Spract brought up a big machine to her and she would have been frightened, wasn't it for the Doctor continuously running his fingers through her hair. She assumed it to be a more powerful utensil than the gadget she had just seen him use on her.

When it was locked around her leg, Clara tried to raise her torso to take a peek at what was being done to her, but the doctor held her by the shoulder. “Just relax, Mrs. Oswald. It’s evaluating your damaged tissue to properly heal you.”

She stared blankly at the bright piece of metal, “Will it hurt?”

“No more than how you got your leg crushed,” he tried to humor; neither of the clients cracked their mood. He cleared his throat, “In the meanwhile, let’s check this heart of yours.”

He delivered what resembled an earthling stethoscope to her chest, although it seemed fancier and more technically advanced. At first, he settled with just listening to her heartbeats, before beginning to study the readings on a screen attached to it that only he could see. It was then that his eyes grew wide and his jaw fell open.

“Dr. Spract? What’s going on?” Clara Oswald was quick enough to notice the shift on his behavior. She managed to lean her body on her elbows, “Is something wrong with my heart?”

The Doctor could hear the hint of panic in her voice, and for a moment, he almost felt bad for knowing what had struck him when she didn’t. When the medic raised his head, the Doctor locked eyes with him, silently motioning _no_ with his face. Fortunately, Dr. Spract had been clever enough to understand his gestures.

He straightened up his face and his lips opened in a closed smile. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry, I appear to have felt a little equivocate and I apologize. You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Oswald.”

Clara could hear right past his voice – her paranoia did, at least. “No. Something is wrong and you’re going to tell me, _right now_.”

“There’s no need for panic, ma’am, your heart looks great, I guarantee you. Now, _please_ lie down so your leg will be fixed up flawlessly,” he requested gently, his gaze soon after falling back upon the Doctor, “Sir, can I have a word with you, please?”

“Doctor?” Clara called with a shaky voice, getting both men to look at her, but her eyes rested on the grey haired one. “Doctor…?”

The guilt overtook him the instant he saw the fright in the chocolate of her eyes. Nonetheless, he bent down to plant his lips against her forehead, whispering, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”


	16. The Hybrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a way, she's a hybrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yes, is clara finally about to discover the truth about the origins of her heart?!??!1!1!!!!

The Doctor followed the doctor out of the room, then stood right where he could see Clara from the small window square at the door. She was still glaring right at him. He was obliged to forget about her for a while when a voice soon echoed through his ears; the inhuman man traded eyes between him and the scanner attached to his stethoscope. “That girl… That girl doesn’t have a human heart. Not anymore.”

The Doctor’s face remained hollow. “Yes.”

“And you know it.”

“Yes.”

“But she doesn’t.”

He shot his shoulders up and down, his head tilting sideways in the process.

The other man knitted his brows close together, “ _ Time Lords  _ are extinct, you know. And yet she’s walking around with a Time Lord  _ heart _ in her chest.”

The Doctor remained still, expecting him to get to his point.

He puffed at his inconvenient silence, “Can I ask how on the universe she managed to get a gallifreyan heart  _ without  _ her knowledge?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he spoke in clichés, “She needed a heart, she couldn’t  _ get  _ a human heart, I got her a Time Lord heart. I did everything I could to assure her survival.”

The medic desperately scratched his chin, “I don’t understand. Time Lords are all  _ dead _ .”

“I know. I killed them all,” his composure was full of irrelevancy.

“ _ I’m sorry?! _ ”

He grunted in annoyance. “I’m the Doctor, I’m the last of the Time Lords because I ended them all in the last of the Time Wars. Clara is my best friend in the universe, I’d do anything in my power to save her. And trust me when I say this, my reign of power is vaster than you might believe.”

He gulped, “That doesn’t explain—”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. Weren’t doctors supposed to know the basic anatomy of the most important species anymore? “Time Lords have two hearts.”

It still took him a few seconds before his jaw fell down, “Oh,” the shock overtook him, “I thought you had a binary system.”

“I unbinaried it.”

“Can you even do that?”

“If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here. Not with this face, at least,” he spat, getting more annoyed by the second, “But we’re not here to discuss my  _ crazy  _ actions. We’re here to assure her health.”

“It’s hard doing so when she has  _ no idea _ of what’s happening to her own self,” it was spat back, mercilessly.

The Doctor’s eyes enlarged. “You can’t tell her that.  _ You won’t _ .”

“Why not?!”

“Because she’ll kill me if she ever finds out!” he yelled with his hands.

“I doubt that. You still saved her life.”

The Doctor chuckled, “Oh, you underestimate her.”

Spract melancholically sighed. “Alright. We’re going to head back in there and she’s going to have all sorts of questions. What am I supposed to tell her?”

“Be creative,” his tone lacked any sight of humor.

He shook his head in disapproval, “Is there anything else I should know that you’re not telling me? About her condition? And  _ yours _ ?”

“Yes,” he agreed “Her body is having trouble adjusting to the heart, as much time as it’s passed—”

“Reasonable,” he interrupted the Time Lord, “You can’t expect her body to accept another species’ heart. If transplants within the same kind are already tricky enough, imagine between two of them.”

The Doctor ran his fingers through the curls of his hair, “No, it’s not like that. She hasn’t rejected the heart, not yet anyways. It’s just… It’s like we’re still linked, even if there’s nothing holding us together,” he exhaled through his mouth, thinking, “Physically, she’s as fine as she can be. However, emotions are made of chemical reactions and those have an impact not only on your nerves, but in your muscles as well,” clearing his throat, he still added, “Thus everything she feels, I feel. Everything I feel, she feels.”

The medical doctor just stared at him blankly. “I don’t know how to explain that.”

“Me either,” he yelped, “That’s why I’m taking any help you might have to offer.”

“I don’t have any!” he argued, loudly. “Your friend there… she’s an abnormality. In a way, she’s a… She’s a hybrid.”

The grey-haired alien froze at his choice of words. When he decided he would risk his own life to save  _ her,  _ it had never occurred to him the consequences of his actions. Not once did he bother himself to search through the deep mazes inside his brain for the tales and prophecies of his people about the creature who would conquer Gallifrey and stand in its ruins, before tearing apart all time and space;  _ destroy a billion billion hearts only to heal its own.  _ If he pushed the thought, Clara had already stood on its ruins, back with the bowties and fezzes, before demanding him to save his home planet. He shoved the idea back inside his mind, but not before rustling, “A hybrid.”

* * *

 

Clara held tight to the bedding sheets the moment both the doctors returned to the room. The medical one looked as if he had just seen a ghost, whereas  _ her  _ Doctor had lines written on his face that weren’t there before. “What… What’s going on?”

Whilst the Doctor walked back to her side, the other man went to check on her operating leg – there was a tickle coming from it. The first asked her, “Are you feeling okay?”

“I will be, once I know what the heck you two are whispering about,” she snapped, eyes inflating with fire, showing him how willing she was to burn him down if she didn’t get the answers she needed.

He offered her patronizing eyes. “Our little friend here was being a little cautious. Equivocated, really.”

“You’re lying,” she accused.

“He’s not,” Dr. Spract interfered, “I’m not familiar with such a primitive medicine, it took me by surprise seeing your heart tied up so… peculiarly, should I say so.”

“He wanted to take you back into surgery to fix you up properly, so I had to explain and convince him that’s just how they roll in the 21 st century, and, surprisingly, it works well enough.”

Clara stared at them blankly. “Is this true?”

The Doctor nodded, “As truthful as I can be.”

That didn’t ease her down, for she knew he was keen on twisting words to his liking. Still, she agreed; even if she didn’t believe him, Clara trusted him never to play with her wellbeing. If there was something wrong with her, he would fight the universe in order to fix her.

At last, the big bright machine was removed from her leg. She didn’t wait to be told to move to a seating position, bringing the limb closer, running the tip of fingers against her smooth skin. The big ugly scar was replaced by a thin red line, only visible to the nearest eyes. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It wasn’t supposed to hurt in the first place,” he argued, clearly annoyed by the medicine applied to her. “It’s probably going to be a bit sore for the next couple days, but after that, you’re going to be able to run marathons.”

Clara tried to hold back a smile, but failed. The idea of being able to run after and/or run away from monsters pleased her. The happiness on her face matched the Doctor’s.

He carried on, “About your cracked ribs, I’m going to prescribe you some pills, but it’s really just a matter of time until it heals completely.”

“Alright.”

Once they were left alone, the time travelers glared at each other with hesitant eyes. Clara was careful as she slipped her legs down from the table, the Doctor raising his arms to assure her he wouldn’t let her fall, but she neglected any help from him. On her own, she cautiously stood on her feet, the smile widening across her reddened faces. “I’m walking, Doctor.”

His eyes sparkled at her happiness, although he still didn’t retrieve his arms, just for assurance. “Yes, you are, Clara.”

Clara took one step towards him, wrapping her petite arms around his waistband, her head fitting right between his chests. He didn’t have it in  _ their hearts  _ to pull her away. “Thanks for bringing me here, Doctor.”

“No problem, Clara,” he rested his hands against her back.

She stood there, although he couldn’t tell how focused she was on the echoing of his single heartbeat in her ear. “I know you’re hiding me from the truth, but I’m not mad at you. You’ve said once, so long ago, that secrets keep us safe, and I trust you to know what you’re doing.”

“When don’t I?” he prompted, and Clara backed away to give him a face, “Don’t answer that.”

She laughed, walking away to put her clothes back on. They exchanged a few more looks and words before heading back to the TARDIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooops,,,, not this time,,,, it's coming though, i promise she'll finally find out soon enough hehehe


	17. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Clara Oswald board their first adventure after the accident.

Clara entered the TARDIS with giggly steps.

The Doctor held back an annoyed look as he joined her by the console for the brief second she stood there still. “You know, you’re going to end up tripping down on your own legs if you don’t  _ ease _ down, Clara.”

“Let me trip down, then,” she yelled from somewhere far, but was soon back into his vision field, “You know why?! Because I’m going to be able to stand back up.”

He chuckled at her overexcitement. “I take it that you’re not rested enough to go somewhere with me.”

“Are you kidding me?” she stopped on a jump right next to him, “All I’ve done for the past month was lying on my back. I don’t think I’m going to be tired again for the next  _ three  _ months.”

He eyed her with the corner of her eyes, “You’ll be surprised,” he played with some random bottoms, “So? Where do you want to go?”

Clara tried to suppress her grin, “Do I get to choose?”

“Why not,” he shuddered, “It’s been so long after our last trip, I think you’re entitled to have  _ this  _ one.”

She smirked with her eyes. “You usually get annoyed with my choices.”

He made a face, “But I still take you, don’t I.”

She seemed to think for a while, circling once around the console and letting her fingers make their own path across the metal board until she reached his other side. “Take me somewhere beautiful, where the skies are bright with diamond stars and the sea reflects the blue of the universe. Take me somewhere where pain doesn’t exist, where the birds sing freely amongst the wind and peace reigns its people.”

He nodded, gesturing for her to pull down the lever.

And she did.

Clara rushed her little legs towards the door, the Doctor right behind her. She lifted her arm behind her, wordlessly asking for his hand, which he offered without any further complaint. She cautiously opened the door, gasping at what she saw, grateful that she hadn’t just  _ thrown  _ herself out of the TARDIS. “ _ Doctor! _ ”

“Clara,” he mimicked her tone.

She looked down at the endless sea just underneath her. “There’s no ground to sept on, Doctor.”

He rested his eyes on the curve of her neck, “Well, isn’t that what you asked? The blue of the nightly sky stamped with stars, the water so clear you can not only see the universe reflected in it but the universe  _ inside  _ of it. The wind welcoming us and if you listen carefully, you can hear the nature singing to us. To you, Clara.”

Her heart warmed up at the precision of her request to him. “Yeah, but… I wanted to be a part of the song, not just hear it from the distance.”

The Doctor’s forehead frowned, “Who said you’re not going to?”’

Clara doubtfully glanced at him, “As far as I can tell, this is a planet  _ made  _ of water, and I hate breaking this to you, Doctor, but humans  _ don’t _ have the ability to breathe underwater.”

“Clara Oswald, you underestimate me,” he accused, retrieving some pills from his pockets, “Take this.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Her pupils narrowed, “Not really.”

He missed her sarcastic tone. “Clara.”

She tried her best not to laugh at his grumpiness as she grabbed it between her fingers and swallowed it hard and dry. The Doctor did the same. “Okay, now what?”

“Just give it a while.”

She did, soon after an itchy sensation built up around her legs and arms. She looked down at them and wanted to  _ kill  _ him. “Doctor—”

“Before you start shouting at me, those gills will disappear as time goes by. At least that’s what the prescription say,” she opened her mouth to protest but he was quick to add, “Don’t worry, I have a pill in case it doesn’t.”

She sighed. “Fine. Do we go down, then?”

He nodded. “If you please.”

“Is the water too cold? I mean, it’s still night time.”

“I don’t know  _ everything _ , Clara,” he grunted, “Just stick your foot down and see it for yourself. Besides, you’re a fish now, you’re not supposed to care about temperature.”

“Then you jump first,” she ordered, crossing her fishy arms against her chest.

“You were the one who suggested we came here, Clara,” he argued, nonetheless kneeling down and wetting two of his fingers in the water just three inches beneath the TARDIS wooden base.

“So? Is it warm?”

“Ish,” he said, “It’s not cold either. Come on, sit by me and we’ll jump together.”

“Yeah?” a twisted smile spread across her lips, “I have a better idea.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

Merciless and quickly, Clara pushed him by the shoulder, not even requiring a lot of effort to throw him into the sea. The water splashed all over her, but she didn’t care. Instead, she started hysterically laughing as his head emerged back from underneath the water, his hair completely soaked. “ _ Clara! _ ”

Her incessant giggles faded away along the sound of the waves, “I’d say I’m sorry but I  _ really  _ am not.”

He was breathing through his mouth; his arms and legs spazzing all around him to keep him floating. “That was really mean, Clara.”

“Oh, I know,” she deviously agreed, moving to a sitting position and sinking her legs down the water. “It’s chilly.”

“It’s not that bad, you get used to it quickly enough,” he conjectured, holding her by the ankles and, for a moment, she thought he would pull her down as well. He didn’t. “Can’t you swim? Is that what you’re afraid of? I won’t let you drown, I promise.”

“Of course I know how to swim,” she snapped, “Besides, I’m a  _ fish.  _ I can’t drown.”

A tempting smile took over the corner of his lips, “Then what are you waiting for?”

Taking her hands into his, she threw herself in, both their bodies diving further down the sea. Her eyes were full open and she stared at his hazel pupils, holding her breath until she remembered she didn’t have to. She didn’t let go of him as gravity pulled them up.

“I wouldn’t quite say you were a fish,” the Doctor stated the moment they reached the surface, “More like a mermaid.”

She chuckled, holding tight onto his arms so she wouldn’t sink. Perhaps she couldn’t swim as good as she thought she did once the ground underneath her disappeared; perhaps she was out of shape and her body didn’t know how to properly work anymore. “Mermaids don’t exist, Doctor.”

“Careful, Clara, or they might hear you,” he gesticulated to the depth of the ocean.

Clara’s eyes widened, “Do they?!”

The Doctor whiffed, “Of course they do! Really friendly creatures, unless they come across humans who deny their existence. Trust me, they can become the monsters of your nightmares if you cross them.”

She ignored most of his words. “When I was a kid, my biggest dream was to be a mermaid.”

“Look at yourself, you’re one right now,” he prompted, “Although they don’t resemble  _ Little Mermaid  _ at all, no; half fish half human? That’s just crazy. They appear much more what you look like right now.”

She glared at the scales growing between her fingers, imagining her toes to be just the same. “Can we see them?”

“Yeah, they’re waiting for us.”

Clara swallowed hard, “Isn’t it dangerous?”

The Doctor frowned. “You never worried about danger before.”

She rested her sight down at the water, focusing it on no point at all. “It’s not that, just… My new heart, can it handle this all so soon? I mean, going down there probably is going to submit us to new pressures and new temperatures, ones that my body isn’t familiar with. If I get down there and the pressure is too hard, won’t I just… implode?”

He understood the origins of her fears, and he tightened his grip around her elbows. “Clara Oswald, have I ever endangered your health in anyway?”

She beckoned her lower lip, “Not willingly.”

He smirked at her choice of words. “Exactly. And I wouldn’t willingly bring you here if I didn’t knew it was safe for your condition. Besides,” his hands traveled to between her chests, “If anything even slightly chances in there, I’ll bring us back up.”

“Yeah? How will you know?”

“Oh, trust me, I’ll know,” the small hint of a smile coming from her enlightened him, “Shall we, then?”


	18. Along Came the Niima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara makes a new furry friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just some twelveclara fluff to make up for all the angst in this fanfic lmao

With the warmest of smiles stamped across her face features, Clara removed her shoes and threw them into the open doors of the TARDIS. The Doctor copied her movements, only then realizing it would be easier to swim without them. Clara was the first to dive in.

The deeper the ocean, the brighter and clearer the water became, unlike the nightly sharpness of the skies above, that had long forgotten the touch of the sun. On their way down, they were met by several sea creatures, ones Clara couldn’t even begin to imagine. As her tee floated around her, a little furry animal sailed through her skin and the soaking fabric, coming out through the crook of her neck, lodging against her as it judged her to be a better mean of transportation. Clara laughed, petting it in the head as the Doctor sank further down.

She followed him down - alongside her new friend - until they reached the undercity, protected by a big air bubble. If she squeezed her eyes, she could already see the _mermaid people_ walking around its shiny streets. As they came closer, the little beast squealed in happiness, detaching from her and rushing towards the ground, where it trespassed from the waters to the other side.

Eyeing each other, they concluded to do the same. Their feet touched the sand as they dared to cross the thin layer, at last being welcomed by a warm breeze of air. Surprisingly, the creature was waiting for them in a standing position, and it was so thrilled to have them following t was quick to climb Clara’s bodybuild and hop onto her arm.

“I see you’ve made a new friend,” the Doctor mumbled, compressing the water out of his clothes with no success. He soon gave up.

“It appears that I have,” she agreed, running her fingers through the moist fur of its belly - it was enjoying it more than it should. “Do you know what it is?”

“If I were to guess, I’d say it’s a Niima,” he speculated, not bothering himself to give the animal a second look, instead taking a few steps into the inner city.

“What’s a Niima?” she walked right behind him, but unlike him, in no rush.

“That thing clung into your arm,” he seemed indifferent, “They’re very common in this planet. They can live both on land and on water and once they’ve chosen their masters, there’s no getting rid of them. There’s a saying here that, if you see a Niima, you run the opposite way,” he turned around just in time to see her giving the creature a wicked smile. “ _Clara Oswald,_ I hope you’re not getting any ideas.”

“I’m not,” she attempted to straighten her face — and failed.

“Your eyes contradict your words,” he placed his hands on his hips, trying to impose an authority that he certainly didn’t have. Not when next to her.

“Well, look at it — her, him?” she frowned, “How can you refuse this _adorable_ face?”

He took cautious steps towards her, “I thought one of the terms of the heart transplant was not owning pets.”

“Right, I forgot,” the sadness overtook her face and it brought sadness to _him._ “What happens to a Niima when a master shuts them down? Abandons them?”

“They become depressed, lose their will to live until they stop living at all,” his words didn’t comfort her, her heart twinging as she shakely caressed the animal — he felt it too. The Doctor placed his index underneath her chin, raising it enough to establish between them some eye contact. “It _never_ sleeps on the same bed as you, clear? You must always keep it clean, and use gloves when cleaning it. And always wash yourself after _playing with it_ or whatever. This isn’t a yes yet, no. First, I’ll have to scan it for any sorts of infections and vaccine it for all sorts of diseases and infections. If it’s healthy, _then_ you can keep it.”

Unable to hold herself back, Clara threw herself onto him, awkwardly pulling him into a embrace he wasn’t very keen on accepting. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He didn’t reply anything, just waited for her to disentangle from him so they could return to their walk towards the city. As they went, the Niima tightly held onto her shoulders, too terrified it would be left behind.

“Niimas are extremely empathetic, some even say telepathic,” he carried on, “If you’re sad, they’re sad too. If you’re hesitant about leaving them behind, they’re going to hold you as tight as they can to convince you to keep them, but if they can’t, they won’t follow you as they watch you go.”

Feeling a lump forming down her throat, Clara brought the Niima closer to her chest. “That is really sad. How can anyone abandon them like that?”

“Not all people are fit to raise a pet, Clara,” he argued, trying to find their way  downtown through the tall walls, “Sometimes, pets are better off dead than with incapable and abusive masters.”

Clara looked down at it and whispered, “Don’t worry, Niima, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

The Doctor was far too distracted to hear her. “Get your little legs moving, Clara. I believe we’re almost there.”

Clara’s eyes widened as they reached the city’s main square. The small buildings all had a golden pale shade, the ground was built of stone rocks meant to match the architecture. There was a water fountain right in the middle, where toddlers freely played by. She squinted, “Doctor, they’re all… naked?”

He nearly became offended at her statement - but certainly acted as if. “Of course they are, Clara, they’re always going between water and dryland. How are your drained clothes, by the way? Because mine feel _awful_.”

She wrinkled her nose, “Well, should we get naked, too…?”

The Doctor stopped wandering around just to give her a face, “Do you want to get naked?”

“Not really.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Clara was bound to say something, but she was startled by a suddenly hyperactive Niima, eyes glued to the fussing children. She giggled, “If you want to go play, you can.”

The creature didn’t need to be told twice to follow its desire. Clara made sure it was safely settled by the fountain before hopping onto the Doctor’s arm, getting him by surprise. “So? What’s there to see? To meet?”

He beamed at her excitement — it had been so long since their last adventure, and he missed it almost as much as she did. “Did I tell you that mermaids are very time sensible? Because, if they want to, they can look at somebody’s eyes and tell their futures.”

“Is that why we’re here?” She prompted, “So you can take a peek at the future?”

“Of course not, Clara. I’ve still got a TARDIS,” he whiffed, “I’ve brought you here because it’s beautiful—where’s that annoying Niima of yours?”

Had she stepped on his foot on purpose, he wasn’t able to tell. “I’ve left it playing just over there. As long as we come back before it notices our absences, we’ll be good.”

“We should hurry, then,” he grabbed her by the hand, in a gesture they were already very familiar with, “Come on!”

Clara Oswald let herself be pulled through the streets of the city, both being stared upon given their foreigner appearance. They didn’t get to glare for long, however, as the Doctor was quick to drag them out of their sight. Not once she asked him where they were headed.

Not until they got there, at least.


	19. The Terrible Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor seeks information about the hybrid and the danger it might bring to the universe.

“Doctor? What is this place?” Clara pondered, half clung to him, half trying to break free. The spark in her eyes was almost impossible to hide — not that she tried to — or wanted to. She wanted to stay incognito to the mermaids dancing at the edge of a cliff and yet she desired nothing more than to join them.

“This is the religious sisterhood. They come here everyday and spend hours just dancing to the gods, to the universe itself, to anyone who dares to look. These girls are born gifted, therefore they are brought to the sisterhood right after their births.”

“What’s their gift?” she asked in a soft voice.

He was silent, at first. “Not only are they able to see a person’s future, but also the future of a reign, of a nation, of an entire universe. And not just any future, but all the potential versions of the future. Do you know how many versions of a future there are? Infinite versions, Clara. And that can drive anyone crazy, so they’re brought here to learn how to shield themselves from those visions, how to block them, otherwise they might go insane. They’re often visited by people from all of time and space, people who crave to know about their future.”

“And the sisterhood tells them?”

“Sometimes,” he bent his head sideways, “They understand the consequences of telling, and if telling them leads to a dangerous catastrophe, then they’ll turn the traveler away.”

“That’s quite a burden,” Clara concluded with a hint of sorrow.

“Quite, yeah,” he cleared his throat just as a senior mermaid approached them.

“You’re not local,” her voice was strong and powerful, and yet sweet and welcoming. “Do you seek your future?”

“Oh no, we’re just passing by,” Clara was quick to clarify, “It’s a beautiful site.”

“Isn’t it,” she agreed. “People usually come here so focused on their future they forget to live in the present. The ones who dare to avert their eyes away from the narrow road of ignorance of their prominent future to the landscape, are the kind of people who really make a difference, whether we tell them their future or not. And seldomly we do.”

Clara offered her a shy smile as she felt something hit her legs. Looking down, she came across a little child suspiciously touching the fabric of her trousers. “What are these? They feel funny.”

She laughed, kneeling down so they could be at the same height, “These are clothes, sweetie. We use them to protect our bodies.”

“Protect them from what?”

She squeezed both her eyes and brows ogether, “From other people…?”

“That’s stupid,” the girl accused.

“It really is,” Clara hissed. “I’m Clara.”

“I’m Shea,” the infant announced, touching the foreigner’s face poetically, “I think your future is going to be beautiful.”

“Clara’s not here to see her future, Shea,” the elderly alarmed and the kid blushed. “Forgive her. She’s still learning.”

“It’s okay,” she gave the girl a wink, “I’m just here to enjoy the sights.”

Shea’s traits became overexcited, “Oh, do let me show you around, Clara! I know some gorgeous places not even the locals know about, you’re going to love them!”

Clara didn’t get the chance to accept or deny the request, as Shea was avid to pull her by the arm. She shot a quick look to the Doctor, one that most likely said she would be back eventually.

The mermaid didn’t let the silence prevail, however. “You’re not here to see the sight.”

“No,” the Doctor shook his head, simply.

“You’re here to know about your future.”

“Not mine,” he corrected, “Clara’s.”

“Clara’s. Your futures are, nonetheless, intertwined,” she conjectured, still judging him with her glance. “May I ask why you want to know about her future?”

“I’m scared,” he paused for a bit, “I’m scared  _ for  _ her. I’m scared of who she is and how she came to be. I’m afraid of what her existence might cause to the universe.”

Her expressions didn’t shift the slightest. “It is, however, her life. She doesn’t seem to be worried about the prospects of her future.”

The Doctor sighed, “Because she has no idea how dangerous her future might be.”

She eyed him distruthfully. “But you do.”

“I’ve heard the prophecies.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who’d believe in mere tales.”

“I’m not,” he was quick to conceal, “But my people not only are very clever but they have  _ time machines.  _ I’ve seen too many prophecies of theirs becoming true to be at ease.”

“May I ask what this prophecy is about?”

“No, you may not.”

Her eyes were naturally enlarging by the second. “It’s unethical to reveal someone else’s future without their consent.”

He nodded, “And yet, for the sake of the universe, you’re going to anyway.”

With a halo of anguish hovering over her head, she glared one last time at the image of Clara fading away in the distance, before shutting her eyelids. “I can’t see everything. It’s all… blurry. I see so much, yet I see nothing. It’s all  _ blank,  _ like her future has yet to be written.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he debated, “Time can be rewritten, but only because it has been  _ written _ in the first place. Written ever since the beginning of times, long before we’re even born. The moment we are brought to life, the future’s already laid out for us.”

She began to unsteadily faint, “Hers isn’t. I see danger and I see salvation. There’s so much of both and so little of either.”

“You’re not making sense!”

She displayed her arm to grab him by the shoulder, a very precise aim despite of her shut eyes. “It’s what I see. So much beauty, so much hatred. I see an infinite potential that could be used to do so much good, but if not threaded carefully, it could lead to a catastrophe so big no one would prevent it or stop it. Not even you,  _ Doctor _ .”

The Doctor’s face turned whiter than usual. “What would be the outcome of the universe?”

“Nothing,” her voice was suddenly hoarse. “It will turn to nothing. Not even darkness will prevail. Time and space will be fractured and everything will fade away. There will not be a single speck of light left to carry on with this universe’s legacy.”

“How can I avoid it from happening?” he squeezed her hand tightly, longing for the answer as he longed for air to breathe. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know,” she gasped for air, her energy unmercifully being drained from her. “I see two edges coming so close they become one only. I see two people so much alike they’ll either bring the universe together or be the destruction of times themselves.”

“Clara,” he pleaded, desperately. “How can I save  _ Clara _ ?”

“I—“ she took one last breath before collapsing to the ground, landing on her knees and elbows. She had nothing left of herself to give. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The Doctor kneeled to help her, even though his mind was still fixated on the hybrid — a hybrid who would unravel the web of time and destroy a billion billion hearts to fix its own. Too much like him, too much like her;  _ too much like them.  _ “Yeah. Me too.”


	20. New Creatures, Old Hybrids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a conversation with the TARDIS about the possibility of Clara becoming the TARDIS.

The Doctor helped Clara climb the TARDIS, before going up himself.

After his _consult_ with the future telling mermaid, he went after his companion, alarming her on how they should go up before their _fish effect_ ended. Then, they went after the Niima, finding it loudly sobbing in the middle of the square, desperate for getting lost from its master. Clara rocked and spoiled the creature for a long time, promising she would never leave it behind ever again.

The Doctor remained unusually quiet the whole journey back to the spaceship.

"How long until we're no longer fish?" Clara pondered, water dripping out of her to the floor. She could swear that, at each drop, the TARDIS became more crossed at her.

"Soon," he let out softly, walking towards the console as the doors automatically shut themselves.

She ran her hands up and down her arms, "It's rather cold in here."

He pressed some buttons at random, "She's being annoying. She doesn't like anything leaking, says she doesn't want to have her engines _broken_."

Clara nodded, stroking the Niima one last time before putting it down, allowing it to go explore its new home; it stood perfectly still by her feet. She cleared her throat, "Doctor?"

He waited for her upcoming phrase, but it never came. "Hm? What is it?"

She seemed hesitant, keeping her distance from him. "Why are you being weird?"

The Doctor froze on his track, taking three longs breaths before turning around to face her. "I'm not."

"You are," she was quick to say, "Ever since you came to find me. What's going on? Did something happen while I was gone?"

His mind flooded with _all the things_ he could confess. He could tell her about to whom belonged the piece of flesh inside her chest; or her becoming of the hybrid; or her potential of destroying time itself. It all came back to her and yet he didn't have it in their hearts to tell her the truth. "Clara."

He said her name like he could speak entire sentences in the two syllables only. "You're scaring me, Doctor," she stabbed him in the eyes with her glare, "Is it something I've said or done? Is it the Niima? We can leave it behind if you don't want it here."

"Clara," he repeated her name with a stronger tone than before. Cautiously, he wandered in her direction, expecting her to back away; she didn't. "Forgive me, Clara."

"I don't need to forgive you. I just don't want you to shut me out," she exclaimed, hugging herself with her own two arms.

"Secrets keep us safe, Clara," he claimed, looking down on her.

"From what?" she sounded desperate for answers, too tired of remaining in oblivion.

He traced the bones of her face with the tip of his fingers, "Don't worry about it."

She shivered underneath his touch. "You can't tell me not to worry and actually expect me not to worry."

"Clara," the way his lips shaped her name sounded like an upcoming lecture. It never came. "I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake, Clara. And the worst is, I don't regret my actions."

"Do you… want to talk about it?" she required, shyly, allowing her head to lean further into the palm of his hand.

He offered her a closed smile, "I don't want to overwhelm you with my demons. I'll figure it out eventually. Don't I always?"

"I guess," she spoke softly, desiring to believe in him but still having her doubts, "Just… I'm here for you, okay?"

"Okay, Clara."

Not expecting an invitation, Clara wrapped her arms around his waistband, fitting perfectly between his legs. Had she been bothered by the moist fabric of his clothes, she didn't let it show. The Doctor rested his chin atop of her head, "What would I do without you, Clara Oswald."

He felt her smile growing wide against him. "Let's not find out."

He nodded. "Clara."

Clara hummed, still clung to him.

"Your _creature_ is touching me."

Clara broke into laughter the moment she glanced down and saw the Niima mimicking her movements by embracing the Doctor's leg. Her lack of disapproval only encouraged it to tighten its grip. "How can you deny its show of affection?"

"How can you not?" he spat, annoyedly, but his inner self warming at the way her lips curved into a smile, almost alluring him to join her. He hadn't noticed how blueish her skin was turning until then, "Go have a nice hot breath, you don't want to get a cold. I'll take Niima to the vet bay and take care of it in the meanwhile."

She agreed with a bow of her head, before adventuring herself into the deep paths of the TARDIS.

* * *

 

"It doesn't make sense!" The Doctor yelped, throwing the monitor away from his face so intensely it took an almost full turn around the console before landing at the opposite corner of his eye — perhaps with a little help from the TARDIS. He had already scanned his companion's pet for any signs of wild diseases and to Clara's happiness and a little to his demay, it was perfectly healthy. He told it to go find its master afterwards somewhere in the ship and it had been more than thrilled to follow the command.

And the Doctor found himself having a one way conversation with his time machine.

The machine only beeped in response.

"How can anybody look at somebody like Clara and expect her to tear the fabric of reality?" he pondered and she squealed, "Yes, you're right, she did once throw all of your keys inside a volcano, but she was grieving, you can't hold that against her. Don't you roll your eyes at me!"

A restless sight.

"I'm not defending her!" his accent got stronger that usual, "Alright, maybe I am, but only because she's not here to defend herself. And that doesn't mean she's a dangerous person. She refused to let a Niima behind because she didn't want it to die!"

A squint.

"No correlation?!" he blurted out, pacing around the console, "If she can't kill one creature, how will she end every little being that was ever born, that will ever be born?"

A prolonged sequence of sounds.

"Fair enough," he gave in, "One attacks the soul. An entire universe is no more than a number. But, in order to conquer the universe, she'd have to kill a Niima first. Clara would never do that."

A grumpy protest.

It was the Doctor's turn to roll his eyes. "Now you're just being annoying. You're holding a grudge on her because of what I did. That's on me, not on her."

A provoking beep.

"No, you can't blame her! She didn't ask to be in an accident, she didn't ask to have my heart implanted into her chest!"

He sank down on the leather armchair. "You can't blame her when I'm responsible for everything that's happening right now," he paused for a bit, silence prevailing. "Perhaps, I'm just as much _the hybrid_ as she is."

He let his head rest against the puffy cushion, allowing the thoughts to overtake him. Although his face traits showed serenity, his mind was traveling through paths of his brain he had long forgotten about. Searching for answers he couldn't possibly find in there.

He scratched his hands against his eyelids, "I wasn't going to say anything, but why is it so cold in here? Are you in _that much_ of a mood?"

The Doctor wasn't expecting an answer, but when it came, his heart momentarily stopped dead inside of him. " _Clara_."

In a blink of eyes, he was on his feet, rushing his way through the halls of the spaceship to find her.


	21. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara has a hard time coping with her now low temperature body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was inspired in a very fluffy twelveclara oneshot i read a very long time ago

The Doctor knocked a few times on the metal of the door to her bedroom, but an answer never came. Gulping hard, he hesitantly turned the knob over and walked in.

“Clara?” he called silently, afraid to be disturbing her. The room was dark, although there was a dim light coming from the ceiling, not bright enough to tell whether she was awake or not, but enough to see her frame curled up in bed under a thick duvet, the Niima resting by a recently crafted casket on the floor.

Clara raised her head high enough to make the shape of his body, half asleep, taking a few seconds to understand he was actually standing there. “Doctor…”

“I’m sorry to have woken you up,” he was quick to apologize, still stuck between the mattress and the door. “Are you alright?”

She buried her head back into the pillow, in disbelief. “Did you seriously just wake me up to ask me a trivial question?”

Shuddering, he sat down by the empty space next to her, fixing the blankets even more tightly around her. “I worry about you.”

She threw her arms atop of her head. “Do it while I’m awake.” 

He ignored her, “The TARDIS told me you weren’t feeling well,” he lied; he didn’t need the TARDIS to tell him what he, too, felt — just a little help to remind him  _ why  _ he was feeling it. With the palms still glued to her, sensations of a slight shivering of her body passed on to him.

“Your machine needs some repairing,” she grunted, her eyes shut in vain attempts of blocking him out of her vision until he disappeared.

“Clara,” his tone scolded her. He threw his torso across the mattress so he could properly stare at her features, his eyes long used to the dark environment.

“I’m fine,” she sighed, her voice half dry, half low, “I’m cold, is all.”

“Did you ask nicely for the TARDIS to heat up the room?” he pondered, bringing the covers up her neck to the point only her face traits were left in display.

“Yeah, but I don’t think she was listening,” she wrinkled her nose, “But I did leave her a very messy bathroom to tide up as payback.”

The Doctor chuckled, not realizing how or when he had conveyed her deeper into his embrace. “I’m glad to know you two are getting along well.”

Clara agreed, “I wouldn’t say  _ well,  _ but that’s how we roll.”

He whiffed, nodding. “Would you like me to fetch you a few more blankets? I’m pretty sure we have a room somewhere that’s made entirely of beddings and such. I once had a sleepover there, regretted as soon as I noticed there wasn’t a  _ single bed  _ there. I had a backache for entire weeks.”

His story brought a laugh to her features, simultaneously kicking away the last remnants of sleep from her eyelids. “You don’t have to, I’m sure I’ll warm up soon enough.”

“How long have you been feeling like that?” he asked, trying to prove a point.

She brought her arms closer together, “A while, I guess…”

He gave her waist a light squeeze, reaching for her wrists and pulling her up by them. “Come on, I have an idea.”

Before she had a chance to refuse, she was forced up, almost tripping down at the covers by her feet, almost falling above the Niima on the floor in the midst. Still, she tightened the blanket around her torso, her bare feet touching the cold metal of the ground. The pet was the first one out of the door, already wide awake.

“Doctor, where are we going?” she required, suppressing a yawn. Although he was in quite a rush, she made sure to hold him back by her slow pace. He was already hyped enough.

“We’re almost there,” he assured, his arm trespassed around her shoulder, guiding her through the corridors, “We only have to make a quick stop.”

He said as they entered the kitchen. The Doctor gestured she should take a seat whilst he got all sorts of supplies, the Niima half helping him, half eating the snacks that got in its way. Clara let them both do as they pleased, watching the pile of food grow so big they wouldn’t be able to carry them all. “Are we feeling hungry, now?”

“I am, and apparently so is the  _ beast _ ,” he retrieved a bag and threw them in, making Clara conclude it was  _ also  _ bigger on the inside. “Besides, we won’t want to leave the comfiness to look for food once we’ve settled.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed as he poured themselves a cup of tea. Clumsily, he managed to grab all the items in his hand without dropping or burning himself with the hot liquid, not even when the Niima decided to climb him and lodge around his neck. Clara failed to hide her smirk.

“Clara, your creature is  _ attacking  _ me,” he cried as a spoiled child, to no effort.

Chortling, she got up and walked up to him, mimicking the movements the Niima was keen on doing — running the fingers softly through the curls of his hair. “Can you blame it? Your hair feels nice. You don’t complain when  _ I  _ do that.”

“Because no complaint in the world would get you off,” he mumbled under his breath.

Clara snorted, helping he Niima from his neck to hers. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you enjoy it, Doctor. Or at least that you don’t mind it.”

The Doctor straightened up, making his way out of the kitchen. “Well, your hand feels smooth. Its is all thick and… and it gets fur in my  _ hair _ , Clara.”

“Just wash your hair,” she rolled her eyes, a few steps behind him, “Shut up.”

“Yes, boss,” he grunted as he finally found the door he was looking for. “We’re here.”

The moment she stepped in, Clara didn’t know whether to grin or to reprehend him. She did both, “Do you seriously have a room with a mattress floor?”

“ _ And  _ mattress walls,” he sounded too proud of himself, until her eyes started to intimidate him. “It was a very unpleasant backache, Clara. I had to give this room an upgrade.”

Clara merely shuddered, digging further inside, careful not to trip over. Her steps were gradually turning into hops, to the point that the Niima jumped out her shoulder to play on the mattress, too. “Is this why you’ve brought me here? To skip until I’m warm?”

“I had a better idea, but please, do suit yourself,” he shrugged, dropping all the supplies at the corner of the room, before walking to the shelves on the walls to fetch grab whatever he had in mind.

She followed him around, unable to quit on her exercises, “Yeah? What is your clever idea, then?”

The Doctor precisely picked up four blankets with the most exquisite patterns and threw them onto her arms — mostly to get her to stop jumping, in pure annoyance — amongst a set of pillows and white sheets. They went back to the original corner, the alien man kneeling as he started crafting a blanket fort.

Clara couldn’t keep the smile to herself. “So we’re camping here.”

“Yup,” he supplied with a nod, finishing tidying up the roof as well as the walls — she had no idea how he was pulling it off —, the remainings of the beddings falling off and working as half doors, half curtains. It was big enough to accomodate the three of them. “So? What do you think?”

Clara leaned against his back, “It’s lovely.”

He smiled, too, pleased of his work. “Well?! What are you waiting for?! Get in there.”

And she did.


	22. Splinters of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor reads Clara poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the poems in this chapter belong to David Jones, from his book _Love and Space Dust_.

Clara curled her way inside, throwing herself across the mountain of pillows; the Doctor didn’t leave her alone for too long, finding his way in with the Niima clung once again to him, too scared it would be left behind. Clara’s warm smile assured it it wouldn’t.

The Doctor disgustingly grabbed it with the far edges of his fingers and gave it back to her, receiving a miffed look from her that soon faded away. He wrapped her body with all the four blankets he’d retrieved and, for a moment, Clara wondered if he had intended to suffocate either her or her pet.

“Are you feeling any warmer now?” he pondered, terrified to find out his efforts had been in vain. “Because I can fetch another few blankets if you want. Really, there is an infinite amount of them in here.”

“No, these are more than enough,” she guaranteed, the Niima struggling to break free from all the thick layers of fabric. “Thanks, Doctor.”

He offered her a shy grin, raising the two cups of tea in the air, waiting for Clara to locate her hands before handing it to her. He rested his back against the mattress wall, right next to her, shooting the strange creature a glare, “Have you settled on a name?”

“Yes,” she said between sips, “Niima.”

He nearly spat back his tea. “You  _ can’t _ do that, Clara.”

“Why not?!” she snapped, her brows knitting together, “It looks like a Niima.”

“It looks like a Niima because it  _ is  _ a Niima,” he debated, “It’s like naming a human Human or a dog Dog. You can’t do that.”

She remained indifferent. “What’s wrong with reassuring one’s kind? It’s not like it minds. We’d only have an issue if there was a human named Dog or a dog named Human.”

The Doctor sighed  _ noticeably.  _ “I’m not changing your mind, am I.”

She smirked at his quick surrender. “Are you even surprised?!” it was more of an allegation than a question.

“Unfortunately, I am not,” he uttered, somewhere during their discussion his hand ending up petting Niima right behind its ear - even if he had no intentions of acknowledging his actions.. “Are we going to keep calling it,  _ it _ ?”

“It’s an agender Niima, Doctor,” she explained with a serious tone. “I tried looking for its sex and couldn’t find it. Besides, enough with the gender roles.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, watching her trying to compress yet another yawn. “Lie down, Clara, you’re exhausted. You won’t wake up with a backache, I promise.”

Smiling with the corner of her lips, she threw a pillow atop his skinny legs. Although she knew he hadn't meant for her to literally lie on top of him, she didn’t care, resting her head against the soft surface of feathers. Surprisingly, he didn’t protest, instead making sure the duvet was tight protecting her from the cold inside of her. His thumbs brushed delicately against the traits of her face, “Comfy, yet?”

A pleased moan escaped her throat. “You have no idea,” she confessed, the Niima understanding it was bedtime and curling in a ball on the opposite side of the Doctor, piling against him just like its master. Clara grabbed his hand away from her face and wrapped it around her neck and shoulder, working it as a second pillow. “Tell me something. A story or whatever. Anything.”

The Doctor pressed his brows together. “I thought you were going to  _ sleep _ .”

She turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse from his eyes. “Yeah, but your voice is smoothing. It’s nice to doze off to.”

Grunting some words she couldn’t possibly understand, he managed to search and find a book inside the pockets of his magician coat. He brought it close to his eyes, doing his best not to make any movement that would disturb her. He cleared his throat.

_ “Those eyes of yours _

_ Could swallow stars, _

_ Galaxies and universes. _

 

_ What hope did I _

_ Ever have?” _

The Doctor looked down at her. Her eyes were shut, her lashes slightly grazing her skin. He didn’t need to glare at her pupils to know of the black holes inside her own eyes. She had swallowed him in too many times already. At first, he would think they were intimidating, but later realized she wasn’t trying to scare him away. She was allowing him splinters of her soul.

“Have you suddenly forgotten how to read?” she teased, sinking her head further down at his legs after a long moment of heavy silence.

“Sorry, I got distracted at how accurate this is to your own eyes,” he apologized, not bothering himself to see her cheeks rouging before turning the page.

_ “I am so afraid. _

_ Time will steal _

_ You away and I _

 

_ Can already _

_ Hear his hurried _

_ Footsteps.” _

The Doctor felt the lyrics speak to his heart. He knew he would lose her one day — he always did —, but it scared him that day would come too soon. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, especially if their separation could lead to the destruction of time; were it because of her, were it because of him. Or, perhaps, their remainder together would tear the universe apart. He was doomed either way.

“I’m still here, Doctor,” her words were faint and hesitant to leave the lips that formed them. Like they were too afraid to confess what was always left in the unsaid. Neither of them dared to move.

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” he lied, not fully expecting her to believe him.

She didn’t.

Another few seconds passed by without any sound, until he managed to find back his voice.

_ “We are nothing but _

_ Space dust _

_ Trying to find _

_ Its way back to _

_ The stars.” _

He gulped hard. At least they had already settled through the stars. As dangerous as it could be. They had built a home there.

_ “And in the end _

_ We are only atoms, _

_ Drifting alone, _

_ Desperate for _

_ Something to _

_ Cling on to.” _

As he felt her atoms cling harder on to him, he concluded she was no longer listening, having been consumed by the tire of her body to the sound of his voice — like they both expected. Carefully, he raised her from his legs and laid her across the mattress, before finding his way next to her. He worked himself as yet another set of blankets, letting the curves of her body fit into him perfectly.

He didn’t move until she opened her eyes again.


	23. Guess Who's Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara's family surprisingly comes to visit her.

The Doctor parked his time machine in the middle of Clara’s bedroom, yelling her name in the most panicked voice before even making it out of the TARDIS, “ _ Clara! _ ”

Clara appeared out of nowhere, Niima right behind her, her face showing the same worry as his voice, “Who’s on fire?!”

“You, apparently!” he squealed, running to her side and palming all over her limbs to make sure they were all still attached. “You called! Said there was an emergency!”

“Yeah! But you hang up before I had the chance to say anything else!” she screamed, although she had to force the amusement away from her face traits.

He leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths whilst one of his hand pressed hardly in between his chests. “One day, you will still give me a heart attack, Clara Oswald.”

She grinned, “One of us with heart issues is already enough, Doctor.”

He didn’t find her remark as humorous as she had judged it to be. “What’s going on?”

“My father just announced he’s on his way over,” she clenched her jaw, the despair suddenly taking over the lines of her expression, “He hasn’t been around ever since the day I was discharged, wasn’t taking no for an answer. And I’m pretty sure I heard Linda’s voice in the background.”

“You can’t expect me to save you from your family, Clara,” he complained, trying to get rid of Niima welcoming him. “They’re  _ your  _ family, deal with it.”

She rolled her eyes as she rose the pet in her arms, “You’ve gotta help me, Doctor. There are too many things here that they couldn’t  _ possibly  _ understand.”

“For instance?!”

“For instance, how my leg magically _healed_ when it hasn’t been a month since he last saw me, barely managing to stand on my own?”

“You’re a hardworking woman,” he spasmed with his hands widely, “You wouldn’t settle until you got back up on your feet.”

“Recovery doesn’t work that way, Doctor,” she grabbed a hold of him before he managed to turn back to the TARDIS. “Besides, there’s this other little thingy…”

“Clara,” he held all his scolding in her name alone.

“Niima…” she was as hesitant as she knew how to be.

“ _ Clara. _ ”

She bit down on her lip, “I mean it, Doctor.”

“No.”

He turned on his heels and Clara was quick to follow him towards the TARDIS. “You know how humans can be, Doctor. They can’t see Niima or they’ll freak.”

He stopped right by the door frame, blocking her way in, “Your pet, your consequences.”

“My family coming over doesn’t exactly qualify as a consequence. More like a disturbance in the fabric of space-time,” she squinted, shoving the animal into his arms.

The Doctor gave her a dirty look. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being  _ realistic _ ,” she arched one brow higher than the other, “Just take it somewhere nice. Niima won’t give you a hard time, it promises.”

Niima gave him the same sparkly eyes stamped on Clara’s face, both intimidating the Doctor. “Lock it up in a room.”

“I don’t want it to be alone, to think we’ve abandoned it,” she argued.

The Doctor scratched his well shaved chin. “Just leave it running around. You know how humans are, they probably won’t even notice it.”

“Trust me, they will,” she placed one of her hands on her hips, “Doctor,  _ please _ .”

“Clara,  _ no _ .”

Both their heads turned towards the living room when they heard knocks coming from the door. Clara caught the Doctor by surprise when she slammed Niima against him, taking three steps away before he got the chance to protest. “Clara!”

“Just don’t kill it, alright?” She pleaded, standing just outside her room, “Show it around the universe.”

The Doctor whiffed, “I’m not getting it inside the TARDIS, it’ll get fur all over her.”

“ _ Fine _ , stay here, just don’t make too much noise, okay?!” she hit the door close without waiting for a comeback.

The Doctor looked down at the animal clung to him, “Guess we’re stuck here together. But don’t worry, we’ll still get our revenge later.”

Niima seemed indifferent, not even bothering itself to jump off him. The Doctor sighed; they were in for a long wait.

* * *

 

Clara opened the front door with the least panicked smiled she had to offer. As her father called her midway to her place, she hadn’t had the chance to do anything — her flat was a mess, her fridge was empty, she wore baggy homey clothes. She knew she wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Clara, sweetie, how are you,” her father greeted with a kiss to her forehead, welcoming himself in without much of an invitation.

“Oh, Clara, you still haven’t gotten your color back, your poor thing,” Linda patronized, cupping both her cheeks with a hint of sorrow.

“Wonder why,” she whimpered, so low the other woman couldn’t hear it. She crossed eyes with the only person she was actually pleased to see, “Gran.”

The elder pulled her into a hug. “I tried to talk your father out of this, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Clara chuckled with her lips closed, leading them both inside with her arm wrapped around the other’s waist. “I trust you to have done your best—“

“Clara,” Dave didn’t seem to have acknowledged their ongoing conversation, not even bothering to turn on his back to look at them, “Where are your crunches?”

Clara silently damned herself at how quickly the situation escalated. Unconsciously, all her weight traveled down to her unharmed leg. “I… I lost them.”

“You lost them?!” they all witnessed the vein exploding in his forehead, “Clara! The doctors said you should be taking it easy!”

Clara made a face, faking a limping towards the couch, “I know, but you know me, dad. No pain, no gain.”

The grandmother was the only one to see right through her façade, uttering as she sat next to her, “You’re going straight to hell, Clara.”

“Are you going to tell?” she shook her head and Clara smirked, “Then I’ll meet you there.”

Linda was studying the place carefully. “I know you haven’t been at the top of your game, but it’s a mess in here, Clara. You should consider hiring someone to tide it up.”

Clara let out a breath, remembering the incident she’d had earlier that day. Niima had decided it would be fun to redecorate  _ their  _ home to the smallest details — pillows were thrown to the floor, books were scattered across the table, the rug was lying upside down, there was still a great amount of things she still had to locate —, leaving her a nice surprise to wake up to. She still had no idea how such a tiny animal managed to make such a big mess. She had turned so angry that not even the innocent smile on its face eased the scolding she had to give, leading Niima to a hiding spot for the upcoming hour, which made her feel extremely guilty. After they had made amends, she just didn’t care enough to fix it back together. “I think I’m going to need some alcohol.”

“You’re not allowed to drink alcohol, Clara,” Dave was quick to interfere.

Clara shut her eyes tightly, just to hear the grandmother replying, “Can I have some alcohol instead?!”

“No! No alcohol for anyone,” he was nearly outraged with their enquiries.

Linda’s frown increased in the midst of their conflict, “Did anybody hear that?”

Clara reopened her eyelids just to panic at the sight of her stepmother standing right outside the closed door of her room. “It’s just the pipes. They’ve been running like that for the last couple of days.”

“That’s annoying,” she grunted, “Have you had the super over? There might be a leaking, it could be dangerous.”

She groaned, “No, I keep forgetting. Only remember it once I’m lying in bed at night wide awake because of the sound.”

The father sank down at the armchair, “Are you saying you’re not getting enough sleep?! Christ, Clara, I told you should stay at our place during your recovery. You’re never going to properly heal this way!”

“I think I’m having a headache,” she moaned as she threw her head atop her grandmother’s shoulder, on the very edge of kicking everybody out.

“Of course you’d be having a headache. You’re overworking yourself, you’re not getting enough rest, and I’m pretty sure if I open your fridge right now, I won’t find any food in there…!”

“No, dad, this is not like you think,” she leaned on her knees, trying to sound reasonable.

“Then, please, enlighten me, Clara, because from what I’m seeing, you’re throwing your new heart away! You’re dismissing your second chance!”

Clara shook her head sideways, the remainings of her temper being held by her gran’s hand on hers. “How stupid do you think I am, daddy? I was dead. For whole minutes, I was lying on a cold hard table all by myself, dead and gone. Why on the universe would I take that for granted?! You had  _ no idea  _ what was like being trapped underneath that bike, watching my own life slipping away from me and there was  _ nothing  _ I could do about that. Do you really think I’d be so naïve to throw the miracle that is this heart away?”

Dave fell on his knees right in front of her, and for a moment, he saw himself staring at the dark eyes of his late wife. He swallowed hard, “I’m sorry, so sorry, Clara. But after everything that’s happened, to you and to your mum, can you really blame me? I’m  _ so afraid  _ that you might not be handling your condition well, that you might be lacking on your own health. This is why I  _ urge  _ you to come home with us. Please, Clara, let us take care of you.”

Clara had no idea where the blurry layer of moist atop her pupils was coming from. Perhaps the mentioning of her mother, perhaps the lack of trust imposed upon her. “I take my meds, I’m on a well balanced diet, I sleep eight hours a day and I exercise daily by walking around the apartment. Do I push myself to the extreme, yes, but I also know my breaking point. I’m not abandoning my life just because you’re scared I’m not taking proper care of myself, because, respectfully, you’re wrong.”

Linda was still sulking by the bedroom door, “Okay, did anybody else hear that? That couldn’t have been the pipes.”

“Linda, not now,” Dave spat, not even bothering to turn his head towards her. “Fine. You want me to stop hovering over you? I will, as long as you’re honest with me. Have you stopped seeing that space friend of yours?”

“What—who?” she played lost, although she had a very plain idea of whom he was referencing to. Clara didn’t even want to imagine where that conversation would lead to.

The father abruptly got up and slammed his back against the opposite wall. “You  _ know  _ who I’m talking about.”

Clara leaned back on the couch, eyes resting on her own lap. “The Doctor? I don’t understand what he’s got to do with any of this.”

“He’s a  _ dangerous  _ man, Clara!”

The grandmother glimpsed at her muggly, “Is that the same Doctor from Christmas?”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“No,” Dave spoke at the same time, throwing a dreadful look at her right after, “Have you hit your head, too, Clara?”

Clara buried her head in her hands, “It’s… complicated.”

He lurked ironically at his watch. “We have time.”

She chewed her inner cheeks in disbelief, choosing her words carefully, “The Doctor… is an alien. Whenever he’s nearly dying, he changes his face. Regenerates.”

Dave huffed, not as intrigued as his mother appeared to be, “That’s crazy talk, Clara.”

“It’s true,” she shrugged, “Gran believes me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your  _ gran  _ holds the same loose screws that you do.”

“Watch your tongue, boy. This is not how I raised you to be,” the elderly woman rose her index finger in the air. “Besides, the idea of you dodging death by changing bodies is quite appealing.”

Clara snorted, nodding, “It would be wonderful, wouldn’t it.”

She came closer to her ear, whispering, “I bet that’s how you fixed your leg, uh? Some kind of regenerating shared energy?”

The younger flattened her lips. “Not really, he knows I’d kill him if he did such a thing. Instead, he took me to some high-tech medical facility and healed me.”

She seemed more interested than one would be. “Well, my dear, I’ll keep you two in mind if I ever need a hip replacement or else.”

Clara grinned with her teeth, both of them ignoring the curiosity of the man to know what they were plotting about. The two ladies would have gladly stayed in their own little world for the rest of the evening weren’t it for a loud crash coming from her room.


	24. Blood Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave Oswald is very disapproving of Clara's new pet.

Linda shot devious looks to everybody else in the room. “Oh? So I’m not the crazy lady who hears noises anymore?”

Clara jumped on the edge of the couch before Dave had the chance to find the origins of the sound. “It’s nothing. I must have left the window open and the neighbor’s cat got in. It happens, noisy creature that one.”

Dave nodded. “You stay put, I’ll check what it broke and get rid of it for you.”

“No!” she unintentionally shouted, “You don’t have to worry, dad, it can find its way out.”

Suspiciously, he placed his hand on his hips, “Clara, what are you hiding in there? What am I not supposed to see?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Why would I try to hide anything from you?” she was talking so fast her words were contradicting themselves.

Dave squeezed his eyes together, leaving to investigate without any further argument, Linda following right after — almost enjoying the idea of seeing the daughter in trouble. Clara traded a desperate glance with her gran before going after them in a rush. The door to her bedroom was forced open.

“Is this what you call a cat, now, Clara?” her father snapped, arms fiercely crossed against his chest, eyeing furiously the Doctor.

Clara pushed herself through the parents to meet the alien, “Yes, well, you can’t deny the resemblances.”

The Doctor stared down at her attempts of shielding him from any attacks from her family; under any other consequences, he would have laughed at how little difference her small frame would cause. “I resemble a cat, now? Please don’t hold back your explanation, Clara.”

“Doctor, hush,” she warned, still whispering so only him could hear her, “Where’s Niima?”

The Doctor turned suddenly panicked, “I… I think we’re playing hide and seek.”

Clara turned around to face him,  _ madly.  _ “How have you lost it inside a tiny room?  _ Doctor _ !”

“It doesn’t like me!” a silent yell, receiving the repression written all over her face. He wondered whether she wanted to kill him for losing her pet or for all the noise he had made to disturb her family reunion. 

Dave cleared his throat, “I’m sorry to interrupt whatever is happening  _ there _ , but Clara? Some enlightenment, please? What is he doing here?”

Clara still carried on body blocking him. “He’s my friend. He was visiting when you arrived.”

“Why were you hiding him from us?” Linda queried, just as lost as the third woman finally joining them.

“Because dad isn’t approving of him,” she confessed quietly, without too much of a fuss.

“I think Clara is big enough to pick her own friends, Dave,” his mother lectured.

“Does that mean I can’t even have a saying?” he argued.

Nobody had the chance to say anything else as a deafening scream escaped through Linda’s lips. “Get it off me! Get it off me! Get it off me!”

Clara groaned as she slammed her head against the Doctor’s bodybuilt. She didn’t have to take any single peek at her stepmother to understand she had been touched by her pet. That day couldn’t  _ possibly  _ get any worse. She spoke in a monotonous voice, “I could murder you with my own bare hands, Doctor.”

The Doctor snorted, not doubting her for a second. “Do it before your family murders  _ you _ .”

Clara didn’t even flinch when Niima climbed up her, hiding underneath her hair in pure panic of the other people in the curve between her neck and shoulder. Dave’s voice came right after, “Clara, don’t move. There’s a  _ thing  _ crawling around you.”

She exhaled tiredly, searching her inner self for all the strength she would need for the upcoming argument — an argument she wasn’t sure she could to win it. “Yes, I know, this is, uh,” she gulped, “Niima.”

“ _ Niima _ ?!” Linda howled in plain horror, “That creature attacked me and you’re creating  _ bonds  _ with it?!”

Clara untangled the animal from her, carrying it in her arms like she would carry a child. “It didn’t attack you, Linda,” her tone was harsh yet calm, “It’s just very noisy and very needy of attention.”

Dave shook his head in disapproval, “Clara, what the heck is that thing?!”

“I told you, this is Niima,” she announced softly, “It’s a, uh, Niima.”

“I told her not to name it after its species,” the Doctor added, “But of course she wouldn’t listen.”

“Doctor, shut up,” she demanded once more.

“What’s a  _ Niima _ , Clara?” the father was oblivious to any interaction between the two of them.

“It’s a pet. An alien pet. But unlike common custom, they choose their master, not the other way around.”

“And you let that animal choose you?” Linda spat with disgust.

Clara brought it close to her chest, trying to protect it from the verbal attacks. Niima, understanding its mother’s appression, petted the skin of her bare neck as an attempt of comforting her. “I couldn’t just abandon it. It would die if I left it behind!”

“It’s rather cute, we can’t deny it,” the grandmother debated, doing her best to defend her granddaughter.

“It’s a wild beast from space, mum,” Dave protested, loudly, “Imagine all the diseases it holds! It could kill Clara!”

“The Doctor scanned it for illness,” Clara defended, “It’s healthy.”

Dave didn’t believe her, “You’ve just got a new heart! You’re not even allowed to have pets!” 

She held her finger up, “No, I’m not  _ recommended _ to have a pet, there’s quite a difference. I’m not going to die from having a pet. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to not to lose this heart, dad, I’m taking every little protection!”

His eyes looked ready to kill. “Are you? Then, tell me just one thing, Clara. When did you get this  _ pet  _ of yours?”

She raised a brow, pouting, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything!” he yelped, “Did you get it before or after the transplant?”

She swallowed hard, hesitantly. “After—“

“Bloody hell, Clara,” his voice was suddenly low, and it felt way worse than before. He turned to the Doctor, “And you just went along her ideas.”

The Doctor shrugged, “Clara’s got a mind of her own. She’s very capable of making her own choices and dealing with the consequences later.”

“Apparently, she’s not!” he spread his arms wide, “And you, Doctor, are watching her die and doing nothing to stop her. And I thought you  _ cared  _ for her.”

“You’re twisting it all, daddy,” she squealed, feeling her legs weak beneath her. “The Doctor is  _ respecting  _ me. There isn’t a greater way of caring other than that.”

“Yes, there is,” Dave conjectured, getting all four set of eyes on him as he prepared himself for the actions that still were to come. He slowly paced towards her. “This, Clara, is me caring for you. You might not agree with me, you might not talk to me ever again, but I refuse to be the one to bury my daughter. I  _ won’t _ .”

Clara only understood the meaning behind his words when Niima was unmercifully yanked from her arms before her brain could process it and do something against it. “No! You can’t do that! It’s not fair!”

“She’s right,” the mother scolded the son, nearly being pushed by him as he made it past the door, “You can’t just take it away from her, Dave, she’s created bonds with it. Imagine if someone was trying to take Clara away from her crib, imagine how you would feel…!”

They all ran after him out of the bedroom, “There’s a fine difference, mum. I would die without Clara, whereas Clara would  _ die  _ with it. I’m not letting it happen.”

Clara tried to get it back, but Dave was stronger than her. Surprisingly, Niima was perfectly still, eyes large with terror with what the strange man wanted to do with it, but still accepting its  _ fate  _ would save the life of its master. “Dad, let’s be reasonable here. Getting rid of my pet is not your decision to make!”

Dave froze and frowned. His brows formed a perfect arch, “Why aren’t you limping anymore?”

“What?!” Clara’s eyes inflated.

“I saw you limping just a few minutes ago!” he accused.

“I…” she cleared her throat, finding it extremely impossible to sustain eye contact.

Dave didn’t wait for her words to jump into conclusions. “You’re high on pills, aren’t you. You’re drugging yourself to get rid of your pain!”

Clara tilted her head sideways, “Is that how low you think of me, dad? That I would rather just give up and go down the drugs path?” her throat narrowed her airway; it was hard to breathe. “Can’t you consider for a millisecond that perhaps I just healed myself?”

His pupils were larger than usual, “So you’re lying to me now. We’ve come to this point now. I feel like I don’t know my own daughter anymore!”

Clara grabbed in the opportunity of his distraction to get Niima out of his arms, pacing back until she reached the Doctor, unconsciously believing he would defend her from her family. “I’m not lying, Daddy! The Doctor fixed my injuries!”

Dave’s face became three shades redder, “It always comes back to the Doctor. He’s the very reason of all your downfalls in life, Clara. You’re a grown woman, if you’re as wise as you think you are, you’ll have to start making your choices.”

She almost choked on the same oxygen she relied for survival. “You’re making ultimatums now?”

“It’s him or your family!” he shouted, “You can’t have the two of them!”

Clara suddenly found incredibly hard to see past the misty layer of water above her eyes. “You can’t make me choose! You’re not being rational!”

“Why not?!” he prompted, angrily, “Because you’ll choose him?!”

She was silent for several moments, lips slightly shaking as they attempted to form the words she was bound to say. “Y-yes.”

Quietly as she had been, he still heard her. He clenched his fists together, taking one last good look on her, before turning around and exiting her place without any further notice. Linda shook her head, calling his name as she followed him out.

Clara wrapped her own arms around herself, curling her lip and trying hard to keep her cries inside. She shivered at the grandmother’s touch, “I will talk to him and try knocking some sense into him, darling.”

Her nodding was almost unnoticeable as she watched the last of her family walking out on her. The Doctor tried to make  _ any  _ form of contact, but she pushed him away, rushing towards her bedroom, Niima tightly clung into her. Clara slammed the door at his face, locking him out on both her and his TARDIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we're back to the angst. ops.


	25. Hearts Empty of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara visits her mother's grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your feedback :)

Clara looked down at the grave before her.

Her eyes were heavy on her, although she didn’t know whether due to the exhaustion or the weight of the tears she so desperately tried to hold in. Perhaps a mixture of both.

It was dark. Too dark as the sun shined its last spits of light in the horizon, obfuscated by the clouds that announced the soon arrival of rain. There wasn’t any other living soul in the cemetery; that place already held too many stories and tales about the paranormal for people to visit it at night. She didn’t care about ghosts, they didn’t frighten her.

Clara just needed to be as close as she could to the remainings of her mother.

After her father had stormed out of her flat, she locked herself in her room, unwilling to come out for hours. She was mad — mad at herself, mad at the world —, not even the sign of affection from the pet brought her comfort. She cleaned up the mess Niima and the Doctor had made during her absence only to lose control over herself right after.

She let the rage take over her. She allowed her feelings to come through the barriers that hid them underneath, she threw pillows against the wall, she broke a little gift one of her students had given her by slamming it to the floor and crushing it with her foot several times, she even kicked the wood of the TARDIS a couple of times, getting her to grunt at her in return.

Until she leaned against the wall and fell to the floor, hiding her wet smooth cheeks between the crown of her knees. Niima was hesitant to approach her, at first, but once Clara opened her arms, the pet offered its tiny body to be cried upon. Clara cried all the tears she had to cry.

And, not for one moment, the shadow of the Doctor left from beneath the door.

Passed over one hour of having him hovering, Clara had had enough, opening the door with her eyebrows flat in a frown. She said, “If you want to get to your TARDIS, you’re more than welcome to get to it and leave.”

She felt him studying her features. How her eyes had been swallowed by a salty redness, how her apple cheeks had become puffier than usual, how her lips still had to steady themselves. “I don’t want the TARDIS, Clara. I just want to help you.”

“I think you’ve already done enough, Doctor,” she spilled harshly as she hit the door close in his face again. She didn’t blame him for being the first piece of the domino to fall, but he was  _ there  _ and she desperately needed someone to be angry at.

Clara sighed, kneeling down so her fingertips could feel the humid ground. She hated herself for pushing away the people who cared for her. She hated herself for bringing down anybody who ever tried to help her — both her family and the Doctor. And she was starting to believe she wouldn’t be able to mend her life back together. Not in the way it used to be.

“Oh mum,” she cried, in the hope anyone was listening just as a thunder echoed through the air, “I wish you were somehow here again. I wish you could fix this mess.”

Because Ellie Oswald was the only one who had ever torn hers and her father’s fights — they would happen far too often during her teenage years. “I know I have no right to ask you to stop your  _ resting in peace  _ just to help me, but can you help me, mum? I don’t know how to make it right again. I’ve screwed up really badly this time.”

She traced the letters imprinted to the stone with the tip of her fingers as the first droplets of rain started falling onto her. Soon enough, it was pouring and she was drenched; she made no effort to move. “So much has happened ever since you left, mum, and sometimes I wonder whether it would be easier were you still here. Perhaps it wouldn’t be this hard.”

Clara steadied herself back up on shaky legs, using the rain as an excuse to allow the tears to escape the corner of her eyes — no one would tell them apart from the tears of the sky, not even her. She just wasn’t expecting for the rain to suddenly stop falling above her.

She looked up and found the Doctor standing right next to her, holding an umbrella almost twice her size, and yet he didn’t dare to step under it. A shy grin shaped the corner of her lips, “Did you steal that umbrella?”

His eyes were fixed somewhere right past her, “You’re the only sane person to come to a graveyard at night, who else would I have stolen it from if not from you?” he prompted, softly, “No. I ran to the TARDIS and grabbed it.”

She blinked monotonously a couple of time. “I’m not afraid of ghosts, Doctor. If I were, I’d be terrified of the one living inside of me.”

He nodded, accidentally touching her shoulder with his wrists and apologizing right after. He knew better than to try to cross her when she was already crossed. The Doctor didn’t know if the guilt was coming from her heart or his or  _ theirs.  _ “Clara,” there was a long pause after her name, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?!” she snapped, soft and yet harshly, “It’s not your sins to apologize for, Doctor. You’re not supposed to try to ease me from them.”

“I’m sorry, still,” he uttered, watching as his words faded right into the thin air, “Your father will come around sooner or later, Clara.”

Clara forced a laugh, ironically, “I doubt that. He’s a very stubborn man.”

“Two birds of a feather,” he spoke in clichés, not at all surprised when she shot him a glare. He straightened up, “He’s still your father, he can’t cut you out of his life forever.”

Clara took a step closer to him, just so the umbrella he was still holding would protect both of them, rather than just her. “He gave me an ultimatum, Doctor. How can I crawl back into his life if he forced me to choose between what’s essential to me? How can he expect me to respect him when he disrespects me at every chance he gets?”

He seemed to think for a while, considering the vocables carefully that were still to be formed. “You can’t, not if you’re still holding a grudge, not if you close your eyes not to see his attempts to do what he thinks is best for you, even if you  _ know  _ it’s not.”

Clara felt her eyeballs watering up again, chills running through her body when the Doctor dared to place the tip of his finger on the sculptured vertebras of her spine. “Forgiving is easier said than done. How can I forgive the man who walked out on me despite of all our blood ties? I feel let down by the one person who should never betray me, by my own father…!”

He nodded, understanding; empathetically. “If you have no intention of forgiving him, then what are we doing here?” he queried, watching as she shivered from his breath at the back of her neck, “Perhaps, unconsciously, you’ve already forgiven him.”

Clara swallowed hard, “That’s debatable.”

The Doctor exhaled silently, feeling her slightly trembling underneath his touch. “Come on, Clara, let’s get back inside before you get a cold.”

She shook her head, unwilling to move. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he objected, “And I’d like to refrain you from  _ not _ being fine if you stay here all wet and cold any longer.”

She sniffed, but its sound was hidden by the pouring rain. “You, too, are standing next to me, cold and wet, and yet you don’t seem to mind the possibility of catching a cold yourself,” she argued, “And don’t you start on your Time Lord body superiority.”

“The chances of me getting a flu are equivalent to yours,” he agreed, “Although I haven’t just gotten a new heart, neither am I taking meds to lower my immune system so my body will stop attacking the new piece of muscle inside of me that just happen to be keeping me alive. You know what, forget what I just said. You have infinitely more chances of going down with the flu rather than me.”

He watched a tired puff of air escaping the gap between the corners of her lips, accompanied by her refusal to even flinch. Therefore, he added, “Did I also mention I’m really scared of ghosts? Because, for the record, I am.”

Clara ran her tongue against her teeth. “You go ahead, I’ll meet you in a few,” she pleaded, requiring another moment alone with her mother. “And leave the umbrella, if you mind.”

He grunted, placing the cane in the palm of her hands. “Don’t take too long or the TARDIS will grow impatient. She doesn’t like graveyards, either.”

She smoothly smiled as she was left alone. She could swear she heard in the wind the voices of the dead people planting seeds on her mind, “ _ The Doctor is right, _ ” she repeated out loud the words printed into her brain before frowning, “Right about what?”

Clara whistled, taking two steps back.  _ Everything,  _ they would say; he was right about everything.


	26. The Poetry in Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes Clara away to escape her problems.

By the time Clara emerged back into the console room — Niima always two steps ahead —, she was wearing a fresh set of clothes, her hair falling flat and dryly against her shoulder pads. They smiled as their eyes crossed path.

The Doctor waited for her to stand right next to him, “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere we can run,” she requested, wrapping her own arms around his, in a half attempt of a hug.

“Run to?” he asked, willingly giving in his limb to her use. He just didn’t expect Niima to join them by standing in the curve between their shoulders; but he remained silent, knowing no argument in the world would get it off.

“Anywhere,” she said simply, placing her wet lips against the piece of fabric above his upper arm.

He nodded. “Run away from?”

“Everything,” she confessed, her lashes nervously brushing against the skin around her eyes. She just needed an escape place.

“How would you like a piece of land in a planet where its three suns set in the horizon like a falling cascade, where the skies are purple and it rains droplets of diamonds?”

Her smiled broadened, “I’d like that very much.”

The Doctor typed the coordinates with his free hand, gesturing with his head for her to pull down the lever. She did,  happily, and the time machine shifted underneath them until they landed.

Clara pulled him by the hand, too impatient to wait any longer. She opened the door to be met by a warm breath of wind, welcoming her first steps into the foreign world. Whatever bothered her on her earthly life suddenly vanished from her mind as she let herself be taken through new places.

At last, she was free.

The Doctor wandered next to her, never once daring to break the link that held them together. The coldness of her hands matching the ice in his soul. He closed the doors to the TARDIS with a click of fingers.

She squeezed her eyes, trying to find the burning stars in the sky, but they were obfuscated by the landscape that surrounded. “Is there a place we can watch the sunset?”

“There must be,” he shuddered, “If we look for it, if we walk the paths of leaves underneath the trees and travel through the fallen diamonds by the waters just as bright, we might find a spot in the greenish grass and witness the suns fading from existence to give place to the sparkly moons and stars.”

The enlightenment took over her face as she imagined the landsights just behind her eyes. “Let’s do it, Doctor.”

And they allowed their legs to guide them with no destination at all. The Niima kept running back and forth, enjoying the freedom it had just discovered, still, refusing to go any further than their vision field.

The Doctor stumbled around picking random things on their track, getting side eyes from Clara, although she daren’t question his intentions. Instead, she focused her steps in some sort of pattern only she could tell, grinning to herself when red leaves would fall on her hair and she would untangle them. The deeper they traveled, the louder the sound of the shore became.

Until they reached the watersides and Niima dug itself onto the flowing water, having it been too long ever since it was last underwater. Clara observed it while she removed her own shoes to stand barefoot on the sand. To her surprise, the Doctor paced towards the river, not caring enough to get rid of any of his clothings as he walked above the stones that formed a path between the riversides.

“Doctor? What are you doing?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes so she could have a better view of him.

“Collecting,” he mumbled, carefully kneeling down in the middle of the flow and sinking his hand in the hope of reaching the bottoms and what lay on it, but it was too deep. Luckily, Niima dismissed his effort and swam down, bringing back up exactly what he had intended to achieve. 

Clara squeezed her eyes, still on solid land. “You’re collecting rocks, now?”

“Not rocks, Clara,” he argued, looking down at the few perfectly shaped  _ rocks  _ on the palm of his hand, “Diamonds.”

She almost gasped at the sight, “You’re  _ stealing  _ diamonds, now?”

“It rains diamonds here, Clara,” he repeated her name, “The ground of this river is made entirely of them. Come and take a look for yourself.”

Holding her sneakers tightly, she straightened her face and stepped fiercely onto the first stone. She was cautious, unlike him, dreading to wetten herself. The water was so cold it took all her strength not to back out. Her second step was just as careful.

He saw her approaching with the corner of his eyes. “Careful, these rocks are slippery.”

The Doctor assumed his still fresh words had jinxed her when her next step unsteadied her balance and, weren’t it for his very quick reflex, she would have fallen into the water — just like the shoes in her hand had. Her tone became three tones higher and she clung herself to him, “You were saying?”

He gasped for air, her arms strongly wrapped around his neck. “Careful, dear, or you’ll choke your old man to death.”

Clara ignored him, “I really liked those sneakers.”

He helped her find her balance, in the vain hope of freeing himself from her hold. “Give it a few seconds and your pet will bring them back.”

She nodded, still unsure she had found her equilibrium. “Should we just stare at the diamonds in the meantime, then?”

The Doctor shuddered, opening his closed fists to reveal the little bright rocklets. “The sins of every man to ever walk the universe.”

Clara laid her head sideways across his shoulder pad, “And you’re holding them all in the very palm of your hand.”

He waved his hand in the air, trying to weigh what he carried. “Would you like some? I’m sure nature won’t mind.”

“Nah,” she shrugged, “Not everything is worth wealthness,” she said and he agreed, yet shoving the gemstones into his pockets only to get a repressive glare from her, “What the hell do you need them for?”

“A thing,” he was as vague as he knew how to be, getting up and pulling her up as well.

“A thing?!” she spat, holding him by the arm as they made their way to the opposite bank.

“It’s a thing in progress,” he blurted, twitching his sleeves in attempts of unwettening them. “Stop doing that with your eyes. They’re too big, they’re expanding black holes and one day soon they might swallow the entire universe.”

Clara fetched her shoes from Niima, thanking it with a silent petting. “I can’t help what my eyes look like.”

“Then close your eyes,” he demanded, wandering away without glaring back to check if she were following. He knew she was.

“But I’d miss the sunsets,” she cried, watching him fade away into a large open field. She rushed after him.

They stopped right in the middle of the green grass, between flowers yards. Before their eyes, the horizon was open; there were hills in the far distance, to where the red balls of fire descended like a cascade — just like the Doctor had described. He grinned, “How do you like it?”

Clara leaned her back against him, smiling tenderly. “It’s times like this, when staring at the beauty of the universe, that you start wondering how can there be so much ugliness. If people stopped to look at this for just a millisecond, I doubt anyone would ever feel the need to destroy it.”

The Doctor buried his chin on her hair, shielding her torso inside his arms, swaying their bodies in a melody only he could hear. “The difference between you and them, Clara, is that you’re capable of seeing beyond what’s standing there. They see no more than the sun setting out to give place to the moon, a pattern that’s ought to happen everyday. You, on the other hand, you see the magic of a burning star disappearing into the sky to be replaced by the fright and the terror of the night, the moment our fears are brought to life and we have to fight our own demons, awaiting crucially until the first rays of light appear again, bringing along all the hope and poetry we thought we had lost.”

Clara gave in all her weight onto him. “There’s poetry in the night, too. There’s beauty in getting lost.”

He leaned his head against the crook of her neck, the scent of her penetrating his nose. “You’re right. That’s exactly why you are able to see beauty, unlike them.“

They fell down to the floor, where Clara rested perfectly between his legs, anchored against his abdomen. She was almost startled by the sudden fall of his sonic glasses onto her face. “The sun light can leave you blind,” he said, “We don’t want you to be in need of a  _ cornea transplant _ , too.”

She fixed it above her eyes, before her hands calmly landed on her belly. “What about you? Aren’t you in danger of blinding yourself as well?”

“I’m not watching the sunsets,” he explained, “I have something else in mind.”

“Your thing in progress that you refuse to tell me?” she hissed, feeling the slight shift of his head behind her, “Careful, Doctor, or my new heart might not handle the surprise.”

“Who said it’s a surprise?” he teased, pulling some items out of his pockets without her seeing them.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?!” Clara chuckled, so well fitted between his thighs she doubted he would have enough room to work on whatever he was planning.

“I won’t give you a heart attack, I promise.”

They fell silent for a moment, the remainings of the first sun disappearing into the horizon. Niima was just as hypnotized as Clara, petrified in a sitting position with its back to them. Clara drowsily ran her fingers through its soft fur.

Their quietude prevailed until there was only one ball of fire left in the sky, the Doctor so focused on what he was doing that Clara ended up getting so lost inside the maze of her thoughts, to the point she had to ask, “Doctor, why are you so good to us?”

The Doctor frowned, emphasizing the lines across his temples. “I don’t know what you mean, Clara.”

She let out a restless breath, sinking further down onto him. “I mean… You’re an alien from a fancy civilization thousands of years into the future, with a machine that’s capable of traveling to  _ anywhere  _ in time and space, and yet from all the billion billion planets in the sky, you spend most of your time on Earth, in a century that's not even a properly developed one, being so kind and so  _ good  _ to humans who don’t deserve your kindness and your goodness. Why?”

His pouting only increased, “Don’t you find yourself worthy of traveling with me, Clara?”

“Is anybody, really?”

“If you’re not, then why am I?” he answered her question with another question.

“Because you’re the person who holds the universe at the palm of their hands, you’re the one who makes it all possible.”

“Only as a matter of privilege. I was lucky enough to be born a Time Lord; that isn't my merit, that’s my privilege. And yes, you’re a human from the twenty first century, but there’s nothing unspecial or unworthy in that. You’re an unique human being who deserves to see the wonders of the universe — if you weren't, I wouldn’t have invited you to join me.”

“I just…” she cleared her throat, “Why us? Why humans? Why not any other species? What have we done to get your attraction?”

His face flattened, his fingertips harvesting the lines between her neck and her collar bones. “You taught me to be good. You showed me how to spread kindness even when all the odds are against us.”

Her hand intertwined around his own; he was ambiguous, talking simultaneously about the human kind and about  _ her.  _ “Even when there’s so much evilness and saddness amongst ourselves?”

“Especially amidst those,” he concluded, allowing her to play with his hand in a dance he wasn’t invited to join. “I’ve finished my thing. Do you want to see it?”

At last, she broke all their bonds only to turn around and regain the eye contact, even if it meant she would miss the last of the suns setting. “So? What is it that you’ve been so secretive about?”

He stared at her for a while, before the shiest of beams shaped his lips. He raised his fists in the air, leaning forward until he reached her and closed with a click just underneath her hair the necklace he had just built, the diamond charm hanging perfectly in between the bones of her neck. “There you go.”

Clara let the sonic glasses fall almost immediately, pulling the charm until it reached her vision range. She was speechless, unsure how it was suddenly harder to breathe. “I… I can’t believe you. How did you even make this?”

“Let’s just say I’m a very resourceful man,” he sounded too proud of himself, “Here, I made Niima one too with the remaining pearls, so you two could match,” he moved to put it on, expecting her to help him, but she never did.

The Doctor just couldn’t understand why her eyes had enlarged even more than usual, or why she thought impossible to look at him in the eyes again. “Clara? What’s wrong? Didn’t you like it? Because, it’s okay, you don’t have to keep it. Actually, you know what, nature probably doesn’t want us stealing her diamonds, so we better throw them back to the river—“

Her quiet chuckle was enough to shut him up. Clara closed her hand around the pin and held it close to her heart. “It’s beautiful, Doctor, I love it. Thank you.”

“S-sure,” he did his best to sustain his brows at a steady level. He absolutely couldn’t understand why or how her face managed to show so many emotions all at once.

“Come here,” Clara pulled him into a hug before he had the opportunity to protest, her grip around so tight there was a fine chance she would crush the life out of him. She rested her cheek against his own. “Nobody ever built me anything from scratch. It means a lot that you would.”

The Doctor digged through her hair with his fingertips, “I can’t make diamonds from scratch, Clara. I just shaped them nicely together and put them on a necklace.”

“Shut up,” she snapped in an amusing tone. “It is still something. How did you sculpt the charms? Or built the chains?”

He shuddered, pulling her away, “I still have my secrets.”

“Of course you do,” she rolled her eyes, smirking. “It’s getting dark quickly.”

“Indeed,” he agreed to the obvious, the purple sky gradually turning into dark shades of fuchsia, “It’s time to face our fears.”

Clara glared at him funnily. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he took a pause for dramatic effect, “That you can’t run away forever. That no matter how much we try to escape our problems, we can’t outrun them. We all must come home eventually.”

“You’re right,” she tried to say, although her words were held back by her throat. She smiled condescendingly with her lips closed, taking his hand to her apple cheeks and cupping her jawline with it, just out of need to feel him near. “Let’s go home, Doctor.”


	27. Same Old Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Clara first day back at teaching. The Doctor is just as worried as she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the people who thought the Doctor was crafting Clara a diamond ring -- I'm so sorry. They're not spacey married _(yet)._

Clara was serving herself a cup of decaffeinated coffee when she was suddenly disturbed by the groaning of a materializing TARDIS, almost causing her to drop the hot liquid to her white shirt.

“Your uber drive is here,” the Doctor screamed from inside the ship, before peeking his head through a gap of the door, his grey curly locks of hair making their own special entrance. He glanced at her from above his shades, “Clara?”

She was uncertain whether he was mimicking the call of an uber driver or just genuinely saying her name — he had an habit of saying it way too often. “You’re early.”

“It’s a time machine, time notion is irrelevant,” he tripped his way out of the craft. He stopped to take a proper look at her, frowning at the image of her, “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Her upcoming sip was long and dragged; she embraced the warmness it brought to her body. “Of course I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?!”

He dropped his sonic sunglasses to the table, narrowing his eyes at her face traits. “I don’t know, you look pale.”

She watched him carefully taking a seat next to her, almost scared to approach her. “It’s my natural color, Doctor.”

“No, it’s not,” he debated, grabbing the mug away from her hands and bringing it up to his nostrils to sense its sent, trying to find out if anything was wrong with her beverage. “You don’t look like you’re permanently in presence of a ghost.”

Clara retrieved her drink before he ended up sinking his nose down the liquid. “There are scarier things than ghosts. Perhaps I’m just feeling a little anxious.”

The Doctor nodded, condescendingly, “Because it’s your first day back to work?”

“I guess,” her gaze was glued to her coffee, avoiding contact with his universe eyes.

“Why?” he brought his brows close to his eyes, “You’re a great teacher, Clara.”

“Yeah, but…” she cleared her throat, ashamed of the words that were still to be said, “Everybody knows what happened. They’ll stare.”

His face muscles were as still as they knew how to be. “I don’t remember you to ever care about what other people think of you.”

“I don’t,” she reassured, “But neither do I want to be stared upon, or talked about behind my back, or pointed at, or treated like I'm fragile, broken.”

“If they think you’re broken, Clara, then show them you’re not,” he instructed, tracing lines across the smooth skin of her arm.

“It’s hard to do so when I look like I’ve seen a ghost,” she made his words hers, belittling herself.

“So you do admit you’re not feeling well,” he jumped straight to conclusions, moving to retrieve his shades.

Clara stopped him midway through. “See? Treat me like I’m broken.”

The Doctor was taken aback by her statement, but understanding enough to respect her wishes. “How could I treat you like you’re weak, if you are, by all means, strength?”

She blushed remarkably at the description. “Funnily enough, I don’t feel like such.”

He offered the purest smile his lips could form, “It’s alright, the rest of the world already sees you for it.”

She gave his hand a squeeze before getting up. She nearly lost her balance as she made her way towards the counter — the Doctor either missing it or judging best not to comment on it. He broke the not so long lasting silence, “Where’s Niima?”

“In my bedroom,” she replied flatly, “It found an old music box and it’s been hypnotized by it ever since, so I taught it how to wind up and the music is really calming it down.”

The Doctor helped her put away the table, “So your plan is to quietly leave for school and hope it doesn’t notice your absence until you’re back?”

“Don’t be silly, I’m not risking leaving it alone,” she made a face.

“You’re taking it to school with you?” he was oblivious.

“Have you forgotten our little incident the first and only time we tried taking it out in public?” Clara raised her hand in the air.

The Doctor wrinkled his nose, reminiscing how Clara had had Niima for just a couple of days and she couldn’t postpone doing the groceries any further, and given his refusal to look after it, she hid it inside a big bag, taking it with her. Inevitably, Niima sneaked out while inside the market, hiding between shelves whilst looking for food. Clara quietly shouted for it several times, trying not to attract anyone’s attention, to no use. It was a matter of time until someone saw it and loudly yelled  _ rat,  _ scaring the animal and getting it to run from wall to wall in pure terror, leading more people to see it and run away in a mixture of fright and disgust. Clara’s frozen look of disapproval and disappointment was enough for Niima to crawl back to her, before they followed the flow out of the store.

“What are you going to do, then?”

“Leave it with the babysitter, of course,” she smiled with her eyes wild.

“You’ve hired a babysitter?” he enquired innocently, but a second analysis of her face was enough of an answer. “Clara, no.”

She fixed the collar of his tee. “You’re not getting away from this, Doctor, you owe me.”

“What exactly do I owe you for?” the Doctor squealed.

“For not being able to silently care for it while my family was here?” she probed, her left eyebrow more arched than the other.

“And yet you want to trust me with it again?!” his voice was turning into high pitched cries.

“Yes. You two are going to be on your own, you can’t cause a major mess when you’re alone… hopefully.  _ Ideally _ ,” Clara walked right past him, despite of the grunting his throat provided, heading towards the the bedroom only to have her arm held by the Doctor. She turned around to meet his serious face, “What? What is it?!”

For whole seconds, he just stared at her. Almost ashamedly. “He still hasn’t contacted you?”

Clara didn’t need to think too much to comprehend whom he was talking about. She deepened their stare unmercifully, “Nope. Not a single word.”

The Doctor gently traced the line of her eyebrows with his fingertips. “I’m sorry.”

They both witnessed a puff of air escape the entrance of her mouth. “I called gran. She says he’s been moping around the place like a kicked puppy, but  _ refuses  _ to even mention my name.”

“Have you tried calling him?” he pondered in a whisper.

“Yeah. Straight to voicemail,” she uttered sadly, “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. It’s sad, it’s infuriating, it’s maddening, it’s frustrating, but it’s what it is. It’s the consequence of the choices I made. I don’t get to cry about that.”

His hands made their way down to her upper arms. “Would you like a hug?”

Clara jerked back at his offer, “You don’t like hugs.”

“But you do,” he hissed, “Thought I’d bend myself a little. Be more flexible.”

Clara laughed with her lips closed, not needing to be asked twice to wrap her arms under his armpits and lay her head across his chest. The Doctor caressed his hands through her hair, to the point she was sure she would have to tide it up again before leaving for work. For then, she just didn’t care.

She breathed in his smell. “Something isn’t right. Whenever I hug you, I feel like something is missing, I just can’t quite put a finger to what it is.”

The Doctor felt his heart skipping a beat and pushed her away  _ before  _ she managed to put things together, leaving his pointy index in the middle of her forehead. “There’s just enough  _ weirdness _ my new flexible self can handle, Clara,” she rolled her eyes, annoyedly, “You’re hot.”

“So I’ve been ever since we met and you’ve never once found the guts to flirt about it,” she accused.

The Doctor made a face. “ _ No _ , Clara. I meant that you’re burning up,” he laid his hand flatly against her temples.

“I’m fine, Doctor,” she assured him once more, regardless of his refusal to believe in her. “Are you saying that I’m  _ not  _ hot?”

“I’d like to refrain myself from answering any questions of the sort,” he took a step back before she had a chance to encounter him again, “Let’s take care of your health first,  _ then  _ we’ll worry about your looks.”

She smirked at how scared of her he resembled, before returning to her walk towards her room. “My health is just within standards, Doctor. Really.”

He followed her. “There’s nothing wrong in admitting you’re not feeling well on your first day of work. We have a time machine, Clara, it could be your first day forever if you’d like.”

Niima lightened up its expression when it noticed their presence, but didn’t move away from where the music was playing. Clara gave it a pet behind its ear. “I don’t want it to be,” she reasoned, “I told you, it’s just anxiety. You’re making too much of a fuss out of a silly thing.”

He huffed at her accusation, “That’s not true—“

“That’s the truth in which you base your life,” she mumbled beneath her breath.

“—Fine, that  _ might  _ be true, but there’s nothing wrong with overworking the reality, it just means I care.”

She arched an eyebrow, “So you do confess you’re overreacting.”

He scratched his nails alongside his chin, “Well, when you put it that way…”

Clara shook her head apprehensively, shoving the music box onto him, Niima itself on her lap. “Come on, uber driver, make yourself useful and drive me to where I’m supposed to be.”

They silently made their way to the TARDIS, where Niima jumped out of her and nested in a ball in the Doctor’s armchair — without his knowledge, since he was busy playing with buttons and levers on the console. The spacecraft bursted into life and abruptly took off, shaking the ground like an earthquake. Sometimes, Clara wondered whether she did it on purpose or the Doctor just lacked the skills to drive it.

The moment they landed, the Doctor glared at her. She had her back leaned against the cold metal of the handrail, her arms protectively wrapped around herself as if she were about to be sick. Her eyes had lost their sparkle, her lips had fallen open, the color had vanished from her somehow pinky cheeks. His pace in her direction was hesitant, cautious, “Clara?”

It took her awhile to phase back to the reality that had called her name. “Hm? I’m fine.”

He stood a few inches distant from her. “No. You’re not.”

She rubbed her nose with her thumb. “Anxiety.”

“You’re not feeling alright, Clara,” he scolded her.

Clara could feel her pupils pulsating. “I must have gotten food poison.”

“Then why are you pushing yourself back to work?” he asked, somehow harshly, somehow softly, “You don’t have anything to prove. Not to yourself, not anybody.”

She chewed her lower lip, hard enough to redden it. “I’m going to be late.”

The Doctor lowered his head, sighing. He knew she wouldn’t stop being her stubborn self that easily, he could only hope she would make it neatly out of her day. His eyes caught a glimpse of the diamond charm in the crook of her neck, and he touched it with the tip of his fingers. “It looks beautiful on you.”

She smiled shyly, like she was scared to. “It’d look beautiful on anyone.”

He whiffed, “Not as beautiful as it does on you. Your eyes bring out its sparkle, the shape of your lips match the shape of the stone, the countering of your bones make the perfect entrance for what lies in between.”

Her grin turned into a smirk, alluring the little cave on her left cheek. “Is this your attempt of finally admitting I’m hot?”

His faces blushed immediately and he looked away, “I thought you were running late, Clara Oswald.”

Clara nodded, grabbing her bag from the floor. “Will you pick me up or should I get a lift home?”

“I thought you couldn't get inside a car.”

“I can’t, but… I’ll manage.”

He found himself staring into the soul inside her eyes. “Just give me a call. We’ll get you inside a coach later, alright?”

“‘Kay,” she agreed, giving him a kiss in the apple of the cheek, both as a goodbye and a thanking for his incessant caring. “Please don’t kill my pet while I’m gone.”

“I won’t,” he promised, smiling with a twinge on his heart as he watched her go.


	28. A Hitch In The Teaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara's first day back at teaching doesn't end as well as she had expected.

Clara turned from the alley the TARDIS had landed and her school emerged in her vision field. She took several hollow breaths, trying to calm herself as she climbed the steps towards the entrance. She could only hope the kids wouldn’t give her too much hell, like they had on her first day of working there. Stressing herself was the last thing either her or her new heart needed.

The moment she entered the faculty, she was welcomed by piercing gazes. She did her best to keep her face straight and head up, granting smiles to all the people who shot her a nod or a patronizing grin when passed by them. Clara damned herself for believing this day would go just like any ordinary day; she soon realized they would be hovering for a while.

For the briefest second, she regretted not listening to the Doctor and coming back so soon, when she still hadn’t fully come to terms with everything that had happened ever since the crash. She pushed the thought to the back of her head.

Clara was weak to her knees throughout the entire journey towards the teachers’ lounge. All heads turned to her the instant of her arrival. Suddenly, she felt extremely  _ small  _ amongst all the faces that had once been so familiar to her.

“Clara! It’s good to have you back!” Adrian was the first one to say something, moving to give her an awkward hug that made her even more uncomfortable. The blush on her cheek provided all the color her face was lacking.

“It’s good to be back,” she forced the words out of her vocal chords almost painfully. She struggled to break free from his hold, intending to serve herself some tea. She was going to need  _ a lot  _ of tea.

“You look good, Clara. It’s good to see that your condition hasn’t altered your looks,” a voice she didn’t immediately recognize echoed through the room. Clara took a long sip before turning around to search for its origin.

“Oh, you should have seen me after the accident,” she tried some small talk with a redhead she had seen around a couple of times, “I looked like a living incarnation of death itself.”

Because she had been dead, after all. She was just lucky enough to be brought back to life.

“All means to an end,” Mrs. Kingchain spoke up, her elderly skin forming several circles across her face as she attempted to smile, “It’d be much worse to look good back then only to resemble a  _ corpse  _ as a matter of now, dear.”

Although she had been more indiscreet than social etiquette would dictate, Clara agreed, and so she was about to say, weren’t she interrupted by Adrian, “I think what Clara was trying to say was that she went through a rough patch. When we heard the news about the accident, we were so scared she wouldn't get a heart in time, so imagine how she must have felt.”

Clara sank down the couch, suddenly sensing her guts turning into knots. “I was unconscious. Being dead or alive wouldn’t have made much of a difference back then,” she snapped, only realizing how rude she had sounded after she spoke. She didn’t apologize.

They were all hushed by her spat, allowing Clara the opportunity to lean back and enjoy the silence. It wasn’t exactly  _ true;  _ she remembered how dark it was, and how terribly scared she had been. It had felt lonely and the weight of life had been heavy on her, almost crushing her. Sometimes, she pondered how she didn’t die in the transplant line.

“Sorry, he didn’t mean to be insensitive,” Mr. Pout apologized in behalf of Adrian, “Everybody was just so worried. The kids were terrified when they learned the news. Up to this day, they still ask when you’re going to return; they will all be so pleased to see you back.”

She rested the cup against her lap, only then becoming aware of her hands slightly shaking. She tried to steady them, to no avail. She pressed them firmly to the mug, “Yeah, I hope so.”

The ringing bell echoed within the walls and Clara was the first one on her feet — regretting how quickly she had gotten up, making her remotely dizzy. She gave herself three seconds to find her balance before holding tightly onto her bag and leaving the room.

She found herself on the halls, directioning to her first classroom. It didn't take her long to be spotted by her students.

“ _ Miss! _ ”

She bent her head sideways to see Courtney Woods approaching. Clara granted her the first genuine smile since she arrived, although it couldn't match the happiness on the girl’s face. “Hey there, Courtney.”

The teenager gave her a tight hug, one that was much more honest than the one offered by her coworker. It didn’t last long, however. “I’m so glad you’re back, miss. The substitute was absolutely shite, nobody  could stand him. Trust me, no one will ever be as passionate as you about Jane Austen.”

She chuckled, picking a walk side by side with her. “I’m sure he wasn’t  _ that  _ bad. You only didn’t like him because he had different teaching methods than I.”

Courtney refuted the idea. “Don’t worry, miss, we still gave him hell.”

Her chuckle turned into a laugh, “I’m sure you did.”

As they wandered, more children joined them, welcoming her with half hugs and shy smiles, overwhelming her with questions about her condition and wonders about how it had felt during her recovery. Perhaps their innocence and their pure concern granted her a much more pleasant conversation than with the grownups. She made sure to answer them all.

“Do you have a scar?” a little boy that was a bit too short for his age asked.

“Yes, Steve,” she hummed, pointing to her chest, “It goes from here to… here.”

Several set of eyes widened, “That’s so big, miss. Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes, it’s sore a night,” she confessed, “But it doesn’t really hurt anymore, not like it used to.”

“Can we see it?”

Lines were formed across her forehead. “It’s a nasty scar, Lucy. You don’t want to see it.”

“But I’ve seen some episodes of  _ Grey’s Anatomy   _ with my big sis,” she argued, “I won’t be sick, I promise.”

“Real life isn’t pretty like the telly, stupid,” Courtney spat cruelly, “Life is made of giant spiders that crawl out of holes in the ground and plot to murder you before taking over the entire planet.”

Clara didn’t have to be a genius to understand her twisted story originated on their little adventure on the moon. “Don’t be rude, Courtney. It’s not nice to go around scaring people.”

“I’m not scared of tales,” Lucy beckoned, crossing her arms. She clearly couldn’t stand Courtney Woods and made no effort to hide it.

Gabe, a little skinny boy with glasses, ignored the ongoing conflict. “I’m sure you were delighted to spend two months doing nothing, miss. I wish I could do that.”

“You wish you were stuck in an uncomfortable tiny bed, doing nothing but to stare at the blank ceiling and being constantly checked by strange people?!” Clara wrinkled her nose, “Don’t say things like that, Gabriel, not when you’re lucky enough to be here, alive, surrounded by love and friends. Not all children are this blessed.”

The chattering was brought to an end, all too put down by her gentle lecture. Gabe gulped roughly, “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to.”

Clara tenderly ran her fingers through his hair, silently assuring him she wasn’t crossed. Her eyes spotted the headmaster giving her a dirty look and she cleared her throat. “Alrighty, kids, off you pop. We don’t want to be late for class.”

Her classes went smoothly. She did some basic work on Charles Dickens, telling her students the stories about how he was working on a supernatural tale before he died that had never been published, eventually getting lost in time. She answered a few questions each period about how it was having a new heart and didn’t eat at lunch, the sight of food making her sick to her stomach. She really had eaten something rotten the previous day.

It was all going reasonable well. Until her last class.

Clara waited for the students to settle on their desks, failing to acknowledge the greetings that some of the kids offered her. Quietly, she demanded them to open their textbooks, although her eyes couldn’t focus enough to read whatever laid out in the pages. She could barely sense the air coming in and out of her nostrils.

She lowered her head, for it suddenly weighed too much. Her brain was pounding against her skull, and she found herself losing all the links with the exterior world as it began to shut down around her. She was dizzy.

“Miss? Are you alright?” a desperate small voice called for her the moment they saw her standing up and tripping over the chair she had been sitting on, throwing it to the floor with a loud crash. She stumbled, hitting the wall and holding tightly onto the door frame.

Clara’s pupils were getting larger by the second and her chin started trembling in the air. “Y-yes. You kids stay put. I’ll… just…”

She never managed to fully complete her sentence, leaving the room before she ended up traumatizing her students by collapsing in front of them. She needed to find someone to help her, but the hall was empty and she doubted she would make it too far. Neither could she shout for assistance; her vocal chords failed to produce any sounds. Almost like life was gradually fading away from her.

Her heart was beating incredible fast inside her chest, even quicker when she thought about how worried the Doctor would be, how mad he would become once he learned her stubbornness had caused her to faint in the middle of school. He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything should happen to her in his absence, just like he would never forgive her if she allowed anything to happen to herself.

Clara tried to cling to something, to no use. She lost all control of her muscles and limbs. It wasn’t long until she fell to the floor with a loud bang, and she wasn’t conscious long enough to know whether the crash had knocked her out or whatever that was happening inside of her body.

The last thought on her mind was how she was dying without making amends for all her mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ops,,,, Clara's day _really_ didn't end like it was supposed to end. Rip (and I say that only as an exclamation, not alluring to the fact that Clara might soon be _resting in peace_ ).


	29. Dying, Dying, Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara opens her eyes and realizes she's back at the hospital. It doesn't take her too long to close them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm terribly sorry (am I though????) for that little cliffhanger. Now, let's just hope the Doctor won't need to give Clara his _remaining heart_.

The first time she came back to herself, she couldn’t recognize where she was. She didn’t panic, that could be heaven for all she cared. Or hell, had she sinned enough for whatever god up there's standards.

She only concluded she was in an earthly limbo when she spotted all the nurses and doctors around her. Clara remembered some of their faces, but couldn’t give a name to them. Neither could she read the expressions written on them; she couldn’t tell whether there was still some hope for her or was she meant to fade into oblivion.

Noticing her awareness, a female doctor invaded most of her vision field, saying words she couldn’t comprehend if her life depended on it. In a matter of seconds, Clara gave up trying to make sense of them, closing her eyes and giving in to the swallowing unconsciousness.

* * *

 

The second time Clara came to consciousness, she was in a more peaceful environment. It was silent and white, almost depressive. It resembled a lot the room she had been confined in during the aftermaths of her surgery. And it terrified her the idea that she would have to spend any further time in there. She suddenly found herself with a hospital phobia she didn’t have before.

And yet the simple thought of the effort it would require to move made her extremely tired. The simple task of leaving her eyes open was already too hard. Therefore she shut them, hoping the darkness wouldn’t take too long to consume her again.

It didn’t.

* * *

 

The third time she was awoken, she let out a restless sigh. She wasn’t alone, she wasn’t in the presence of a doctor or a nurse. She was in the company of her family — precisely, her father and grandmother. The elderly woman was so pale she looked ill, holding Clara’s hands so lovingly and still so scared that, if she let go, she would be gone forever, whereas the man was on the far edge of the room, petrified to come closer, his face mad that he had to break his own ultimatum to be there and yet saying they would never find him elsewhere. A mixture of both regret and sorrow.

Clara just couldn’t understand why they were wearing sterile masks and gloves and gowns. Had she traveled to the past and was back in her postop? Certainly her family resembled like it. However, she couldn’t be arsed to probe for answers; all she desired was some solitude.

A solitude she could only find in a distant state of sleep.

She almost felt bad for her gran and the misty layer of tears forming on the lady’s eyes when she dared to lock her own.

Almost.

* * *

 

The fourth time her brain brought her back to life, she could swear her organs were starting to rot inside of her.

Clara tried to move to a sitting position, determined to get rid of the exhaustion that still prevailed, no matter how long she had been knocked out. She only didn’t consider that effort would drain all her energies — or whatever was left of it —, leaving her to gasp for air, regardless of the oxygen mask already  placed atop her nose and lips.

She didn’t doubt any further she was as close to death as she had ever been.

Her speculation was confirmed by the lost glare in the Doctor’s eyes, refusing to look at her, vision focused at nowhere at all. Lost.

Clara didn’t try to get his attention. She just let her body rest against the hard mattress, not daring to move another inch. No one would be able to tell she was awake weren’t it for her heavy blinking. At last, watching the Doctor in his own inner daze, she didn’t feel the need to succumb herself back to sleep.

Several minutes passed before their eyes crossed paths. He seemed surprised at first, but didn’t grant her any welcoming smile. He pushed himself up from the chair, walking towards her; his brows were crossed — more crossed than she had ever seen them. He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her head along, and left them there.

At first, neither of them dared to speak. Like a game, the first one to say anything and face their feelings would lose.

And the Doctor didn’t take too long to admit defeat. Harshly, angrily, more loudly than he had intended, he uttered, “You  _ can’t _ do this, Clara…!”

She stared at him funnily. Was he mad at her for getting sick? She could feel a headache kicking in.

He pulled away unexpectedly, boarding a pacing around himself that would eventually drive her dizzy. “How can you be this… stupid?” he gesticulated in the air, so brutally he risked knocking down anything that crossed its path. “You’re so clever about the world, about life as a whole, then how can you be so  _ naïve  _ about your own damn self?!”

Clara watched a puff of air forming between her lips and the gas mask, listening to the beeping of the heart machine increase in the slightest. And it hurt how cruelly it was pounding against her inner walls — the guilt was overtaking her, regardless of her lack of knowledge on what was going on.

The Doctor couldn't tell whether the guilt had originated in him or her first; still, it felt heavy on him — as he knew it did on her. It didn’t make him go any easier on his words, “You can’t play with your own life, Clara, you can’t just throw it all away! Do you have any idea of everything you’re leaving behind, all the people you’re abandoning forever? You can’t do this to them,  _ Clara!  _ You can’t do this to  _ me! _ ”

Clara’s pupils dilated; the layers of tears that began to gather above her corneas were sparkly evident. She remained silent, unable to find the right things to say — they didn’t exist.

The Doctor sank down in the chair next to her bed, burying his head in his hands and almost yanking the surgical mask he wore in the process. He took several breaths, apparently trying to calm himself — she doubted he had it in him to succeed. “I’m sorry. Attacking you was not my intention at all,” he wanted to hold her hand, but was clearly hesitant. Afraid he would hurt her if he did. “But, Clara… I’m so mad at you. So angry. How could you do this?  _ Why  _ would you do this? Ignore every sign that your body was shutting down, push through all the edges when you  _ knew  _ neither your or your body could handle it? Why?!”

She shook her head, a wet tray following down her cheeks. She didn’t know why she had pushed herself to the extreme. Her subconscious had tried to fool her into believing nothing was going to happen to her, and she had bought every single one of her own lies. She was stupid, just like the Doctor had so unmercifully pointed out.

The Doctor leaned forward, bringing the distance between them closer to an end but still not invading her personal space. “You’ve been slipping in and out of conscious for the past three days — I don’t expect you to remember it, especially when those  _ in  _ moments rarely ever lasted longer than a few seconds. Until now, that is.”

No wonder why she felt like she was rotting, Clara thought to herself. Hadn’t she already lost so many days in a hospital bed, she would have damned herself for all the lost time. She waited for any further insight on her condition.

At last, he pushed the locks of her hair away from her face, his touch tender and smooth. His eyes couldn't show past his pain and grief. “You have a bacteria, Clara,” his voice was hoarse, “They have no idea what it is; no human antibiotic seems to have worked so far. The doctors have already spoken to your family, they don’t expect you to make it past the week.”

“Oh,” Clara whispered for the first time, although it barely consisted of a sentence. Even though she had already expected her imminent death, hearing of what she was doomed struck her like a lightning. She didn’t realize how terrified she was of dying until she found herself at its mercy.

“But, of course, I couldn’t just stand by and watch you die,” the Doctor let out coolly, “I scanned your condition and replaced the normal IV fluids with the right antidote, so don’t worry, you might feel awful right now but in a few days you’ll be as good as new. However, let’s keep this to ourselves, let them think they have their own little miracle.”

Her eyes glowed, but she didn’t find his last comment as amusing as he had judged it to be. She tried to move to a sitting position once again; he held her down. “I thought… I thought you were mad at me.”

He pulled back almost immediately. “I still am. That doesn’t mean I’m just going to let you perish under my care over my own bitterness.”

Clara swallowed hard, having difficulty in sustaining the eye contact. “I’m sorry…”

Her words fell on deaf ears. “I waited for your call, Clara,” his voice was melancholic, lacking the accusation behind his words, “I don’t know how long I waited for it, but,  _ god,  _ it felt like an eternity. Until I couldn’t do it anymore and went after you at school. Imagine how terrified I was when I got there only to learn you had been taken to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, truthly, her tears piling up in her voice; and her eyes narrow, impeding her from properly seeing the man next to her. “I didn’t think this was going to happen. I could have sworn I was… just fine.”

The Doctor forced out an ironic laugh, inflating the mask in contact with his face. “It’s barely been two months ever since the transplant, Clara. Your condition is going to change your way of living forever, and you either adapt to it or you get out.”

Clara pulled the oxygen mask away from her mouth, suddenly incredibly uncomfortable with it. “What difference would it make? Had I admitted defeat earlier, I would have gone to the hospital and they would diagnose me with the same unknown bacteria and I would  _ die  _ anyway.”

“No, Clara,” he argued, offendedly, “If you’re feeling even remotely ill, you tell me and I’ll fix you.”

She shook her head, “What if you aren’t here?”

“Don’t be silly, I’m always going to be here,” his eyes lit up like fire.

“We both know that’s not true, Doctor,” she didn’t lose her temper, unlike him. She regretted her upcoming words the moment they escaped her lips, “You weren’t  _ there _ .”

The Doctor froze within his own body. His heart sped up accurately, reflecting on the heart monitor — because her heart beated just as anxious as his. If he had any excuses to give, his vocal chords failed to pass them on; he hated himself just as much as she hated him for not saving her from the crash. Even though he tried to make it right after his mistakes; even though he had traveled back to the past just to hold her  _ hand  _ while she was fading from life in that cold morning of autumn. The guilt never left his side. Not even after he had yanked out one of his hearts to  _ save  _ her.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized for the zillionth time in such a short time frame. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did,” he denounced, not at all with remorse. His eyes were lodged in the incision beginning to show in her chest, the red line that his absence  _ and  _ his sacrifice had put there. “It’s okay, I understand. I blame myself as well.”

She pressed the palm of her hand strongly to her mouth, trying to keep her cries inside. “No, stop. I don’t blame you. I would  _ never  _ blame you for my own faults. Please, Doctor, you can’t… You can’t condemn yourself for the accident.  _ Please _ .”

Only when he dared to cross eyes with her, he understood. His  _ guilt  _ over the accident brought  _ guilt  _ upon herself. No; he could never allow her to bring herself down on his behalf.  Struggling to breathe, the Doctor pressed his forehead to hers, wiping the stubborn tears that she hadn’t noticed away from her cheeks with the funny texture of the plastic gloves. “I’m not abandoning you, not again. Not ever, I promise.”

Clara was obliged to close her eyes before she  _ drowned  _ inside his gaze. “Forever only works for you.”

“Shh, shh,” he  _ begged,  _ dreading to think of the day they would be separated; were it due for his or her or  _ their  _ flaws. “You have my  _ word _ , Clara.”


	30. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara presses the Doctor for answers about the origins of her condition; the truth he reluctantly lets out is enough to break her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank you all for your reviews. Secondly, I here express my sincerely apologies for breaking your hearts in the previous chapter, and even more so in this _one_.

Clara imaginarily crossed her arms against her chest, since the physical movement would require an amount of effort she doubted she had inside of her, trying to settle in a more comfortable position. She traced the Doctor’s glare, “My father. I saw him here one of the times I woke up briefly.”

He nodded. “He was so worried about you, Clara.  _ So guilty.  _ He wouldn’t leave your side, not for one single moment. He kept talking to you,  _ begging  _ you to wake up and tell him it had all been a prank to get back at him for being so stupid. Of course, you wouldn’t. I’d say it’s all forgotten and forgiven.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” she complained softly.

“And he hasn’t forgiven, but it’s just going to be one of those sore matters no one dares to talk about.”

Clara grinned quietly, still unable to find a better stance to rest.

The Doctor ran his fingertips against the cold smoothing skin of her arm. “You look tired, you should get some sleep.”

Clara blinked blankly, “I don’t want to sleep. I’ve been asleep for too long already. I feel like I’m starting to decompose here.”

He chuckled at her statement. “I’m sorry to break this to you, dear, but you’re still going to  _ decompose  _ here a little longer to stop from decomposing at all,” he conjectured, noticing as her cheeks rouged at his choice of name calling, “Recovery takes time, Clara, especially a  _ miracle  _ one.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, trying to supress the amusement in her lips. Yet, she didn’t show any signs of intending to follow his commands. “Doctor, where did I get this bacteria? I mean, was it here on Earth or somewhere out there? How did I come across it? Will I have to stop traveling with you because of my condition, now?”

The Doctor brought the thin blankets all the way up to her neck. “Don't worry about that, now. All you need to focus is in getting better.”

Clara tilted her head, squeezing her eyes, “Doctor, what aren’t you telling me?”

He whiffed, astonished by her accusation. “Me? I’m not hiding you anything. You’re the one being overly suspicious. It’s okay to be suspicious, but  _ overly _ ? Not so much. You know I’m not just going to stop picking you up, not if that’s what you still desire, so there’s no need to be stressed over something that’s not happening.”

She waited patiently until his babbling came to an ending. “You know when we have to defeat some alien monster and you start talking non-stop until you either confuse the enemy with all these words or you tire them to defeasance?” Clara prompted and he nodded, “You’re doing it right now.”

The Doctor was taken aback.

She bit her upper lip. “Enough with the secrets, Doctor. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

He stared at the chocolate inside her eyes for several minutes, looking for the easiest way to break the news, only to learn there wasn’t  _ any _ . “Clara… It’s Niima.”

Her eyes enlarged and she leaned onto her elbows, halfway to a sitting position. The blanket fell from her torso and landed over her legs. “What about it? Is it okay?”

“No, Clara, it’s not,” he tried to be as subtle as possible, speaking to her like he would speak to a child. “It’s sick, you’ve gotten your illness from it.”

Clara trembled her head sideways,  _ refusing  _ to accept his words. Her hands clenched onto the bed sheets so tightly they were turning white. “Heal it,” she demanded, although her voice betrayed the authority she tried to impose.

“I can’t, Clara,” he cried, his eyes bright and unable to focus on hers, for he feared she would shoot him down if he dared to.

“You’ve healed me,” she stated, panickedly but strongly, “Heal it, too.”

“It doesn’t work as simply as that, Clara,” he tried, leaning forwards only to back away when he saw her flinch. “It’s far too ill. The only reason why you’re getting better is because they caught your disease early on stage. Niima is far too sick, it isn’t responding to any of the meds. I’m sorry, Clara, I really am, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Her limbs began shaking underneath her, eventually letting her fall back against the flat mattress. Her eyeballs became all puffy and she raised her hand to place it atop her mouth, attempting to hold back her sobs. “I can’t be there for it.”

“You’re not abandoning it, Clara,” he was hesitant to initiate any physical contact, “It knows how loved it is.”

“I am,” she cried, not properly hearing any of his words, “I am abandoning it and it’s going to die because of it.”

“It’s going to die either way,” he whimpered hushly, “Whether you wait for the illness to destroy all of its body or you abandon it and it dies of a heartbreak,” he paused for a bit, “Or, you decide to end both yours and its suffering by putting it to sleep.”

Her chest ascended and descended in a quicker pattern; she couldn’t  _ breathe _ . “You want me… to sacrifice it?”

The Doctor moved the oxygen mask from her neck back to her nose, and he could almost see the relief it brought her. “I’m saying it wouldn’t be fair for Niima to be in an agonizing condition, nor for you to watch it deteriorating right before your eyes without being able to do anything to help it, to make it easier. Because there’s nothing harder than watching the ones you love fading away from you.”

Clara held tightly onto the gas mask. She  _ knew  _ he was not only talking about Niima, but about how she had  _ nearly disappeared  _ from his and her family’s lives. “I can’t do it, Doctor. I-I just can’t.”

Breaking all the boundaries they had been keen on defying, the Doctor lied down next to her, receiving no protests from her. There was a struggle for space, at first, until they settled with their bodies being so close together they could be easily mistaken for one. “Of course you can, Clara. You’re the strongest person I know.”

It was only given to the proximity to  _ his heart  _ that hers finally decreased to a steadier rate.  _ Familiarity,  _ he knew. “I’m not strong. I’m weak, look at where I am. Look at how I’ve gotten here.”

The Doctor traced lines with his fingertips at the crook of her neck. “That doesn’t make you weak. Stupidly stubborn, maybe, but not weak. You are never weak.”

Clara buried her head in the curve between his shoulder pad and jawline. Although her breathing had established itself, she didn’t dare to get rid from her direct source of pure oxygen. She confessed silently, being haunted by her own words, “Watching the cancer eat my mum until there was nothing left of her was the worst thing, and yet she refused to give any less of a fight because she wanted us to have the most time together, even if our time was destroying  _ both  _ of us. If she did that for me without a second thought, I think… I think I can do that for Niima, too. Let it die with peace.”

The Doctor felt her slightly trembling inside of his embrace, although he was unsure if its origins were from the memory of her mother or the idea of losing the pet she loved endlessly. Regardless, he pulled her closer, one arm around her waist, the other hand smoothing the hairs at the top of her head, building her a home inside his hold. He daren’t say anything.

And yet the silence didn’t prevail, when her breaths soon turned into small sobs. She held tightly onto him, too scared to let go; too afraid that, if she did, she wouldn’t have anything to lean on to. She would have nobody to hold her together. She closed her eyes, brushing her wet lids against his well shaved chin.

“Oh, Clara,” he lamented, his heart aching. Inside of his chest twice as much — because not only he shared her pain, he held the soreness of seeing her suffer and being unable to do anything to help her. Nothing other than evolving an embrace around her petite frame and idealizing nothing could harm her there, forgetting that they were already too damaged inside their own bodies and minds.

Clara couldn’t stand the way he called her name, like it was the most important word in the universe; saying so little in two syllables and yet meaning so much. She felt a lump growing inside her throat when she asked calmly, “Is this how you felt? When you walked into the hospital to find me barely alive? That twinge in your heart that will eventually  _ suffocate  _ you?”

The Doctor rested his cheek against her forehead, knowing he had felt  _ so much worse,  _ to the point he had given a physical piece of himself just so he could see again the brightness of her eyes and the sparkle of her smile as it dotted the dimple in her left cheek. Just so he could see the life in her again. He hadn’t doubted for a second it wouldn’t be worth it.

Realizing she was still expecting an answer, he began, “Yes, Clara. And yet, it felt much worse,” he admitted, choosing his vocables carefully, “I was on the edge of losing my best friend. The one person I rely on. I couldn’t bear to lose you without losing my own self. I was so scared, Clara,  _ so scared  _ that you would leave me alone to travel the stars when the stars don’t shine right without you.”

Her sobs had resorted themselves into silent tears; she still refused to untangle herself from him. She deepened her fingers through the curls of his hair, “I’m sorry.”

He snorted lightly, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You didn’t ask to be here. You didn’t ask to have your heart crushed. Quite literally.”

Clara made sure to ignore his pun. “You’re mad,” she whispered, referring to his crossness when she had first awoken, “I’m sorry.”

The Doctor planted his lips on her temples and left them there, despite the piece of fabric of his surgical mask tearing their skin apart. “You’re sorry that I’m mad or you’re sorry that you’ve made me mad?”

Although his comment was intended to amuse her, Clara remained serious. “Both.”

He nodded, almost unnoticeably. He felt her weight grow heavier onto him, either because the illness exhaustion had consumed all that was left of her energy or because she had, at last, given in all of her to him. He remained still, dreading to move and disturb her, and mouthed tenderly, “I’m sorry, too.”


	31. The Road to Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara is about to be released from the hospital when her father comes to visit her.

The upcoming fortnight seemed to defy all the laws to time and pass by with the sensation of an entire month.

Clara spent most of it asleep. At first, it took her too much effort to remain awake, but as her body healed from the illness, she ended up being too bored by staring at the blank ceiling and would  _ force  _ herself to unconsciousness. She was alive in her dreams.

She never once came back to awareness and found herself on her own. Mostly, the Doctor was by her side, at the same dusty chair he had been when she first fell asleep. Clara would beg him to go home, to make company to the dying niima, to assure it was comfortable in its sickness. He had told her he was taking good care of it, going away whenever she was knocked out and coming back before she awoke. She was missing the fire she usually held inside of her to uncover him in his likely lying.

She had been moved from the ICU to a private room when her immune system had increased enough for her to be around other germs, when her lungs regained their ability to gasp for air without draining all her energy, when her heartbeat stopped oscillating from edge to edge and settled on a constant rhythm. She couldn’t forget their stares of amazement as she worked her way to a complete recovery.

That occasion, she had been awaken by all the movement around her. She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by doctors and nurses, being welcomed by happy grins that she failed to mimic. “It’s  _ great  _ to see you awake, Ms. Oswald,” they had told her.

She responded with a frowned nod, “What… What’s going on?” her voice had become hoarse and she moved to get rid of the oxygen mask in order to better hear herself, only to find it already gone.

“No need to be alarmed, you’re ending your trip in the ICU — hopefully your last one,” Dr. Anderson had prompted, raising her head in the air so she could provide her with another pillow. “It’s a miracle, you know, that you’re even getting out of this room. None of us expected you would.”

Clara sighed loudly, sinking further down at the new set of cushions. Although she very well knew the reasons of her healing, she would go on playing naïve, “Yeah, I guess I’m just lucky.”

“I’d say you’re more than just lucky,” the doctor would argue as she pushed Clara through the halls, towards a room in the floors below where she wouldn’t require round the clock care. “You got an infection that science has yet to find out, you were thrown at death’s door, and still, on your own, regardless of your almost non existent immune system, you recovered from your own hell. We don’t usually like to talk about miracles around here, we’re to skeptic for that, but you, Ms. Oswald, are the works of a miracle.”

Clara swallowed a lump stuck down her throat. “Maybe it wasn’t my time.”

“Not at all.”

She was settled into a new room, one that particularly didn’t look as depressing as the ICU walls. She nested underneath two layers of blankets, the telly turned on in some random channel, one she wasn’t paying attention to. The sound in the background alone was recomforting.

Clara had later been staggered by the sudden harsh opening of the door, making way to a very panicked Doctor. She gave him a look, one that he made sure to ignore as he dropped to his knees next to the bunk and threw himself atop her lap, in failed attempts of a hug.

She placed her fingers through his locks of hair, which looked wider than usual. She searched for his eyes, but they were hidden by the contact with her own body, “Doctor? Are you alright?”

He took several gasping breaths. “I went to your room and you weren’t there.”

Clara tilted her head, “Yeah, because I’m here now.”

“I didn’t know that!” he screamed, but his yelps were muffled by the fabric of the covers. “I thought something had happened to you!”

Clara smoothed his scalp with the top of her fingers, “You could have asked someone? That place is full with people, would you know.”

He abruptly raised his head up, almost offended at the insinuation. “I hate  _ people,  _ Clara! And turns out they’re not so fond of me, either.”

Clara rolled her eyes, “How on earth did you find me, then?”

The Doctor rested his chin on top of one of her thighs. “I checked the surgical board, in case you humans had done something stupid, but you weren’t there. So I went to the morgue, in case you humans had done something even  _ more  _ stupid and, luckily, your decaying body wasn’t there either. That's when I had the idea to download a  _ Tracking Clara  _ app in my shades. It proved to be quite useful, can’t wait to use it the next time we’re traveling and you have the great idea of wandering off without my consent.”

She shook her head in disapproval, amidst her incapability of getting rid of the smirk she wore. “Come on, get off the floor. You’re old, you’ll end up having a backache or worse. Really don’t want to have to carry you around once I get out of here because you can’t  _ move _ .”

He snorted, scornfully. “I’m not old, Clara. I’m enjoying my youth,” he argued, but that didn’t stop him from getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed. He was keen on allowing her to boss him around.

Clara wrinkled her nose, “You’re  _ grey _ . You’re as far from  _ youth  _ as one can be.”

The Doctor puffed, “Gimme your hair. I’m sure I’ll find a couple of greys here and there, and then, we’ll talk.”

She crossed her arms, but wasn’t particularly mad at his implications. “At least they don’t take over my entire head.”

They went on in their argument a little longer, until Clara got him to shut up by pointing at some cartoon playing in the telly, one that he ended up far too intrigued with to give her further attention. Clara smiled softly at the image, pulling him closer to her and wrapping one of his arms around her.

He didn’t protest, letting her nest next to his body. She teased harmlessly, “I’m people and you don’t hate me.”

He glanced quietly at her, before both their eyes found their way back to the TV. “You are the exception.”

As the days went by, she would bear her way from sunrise to sundown marathoning all the silly romcoms on the television, although she never spared them all of her attention span. There were times, she would wake up in the presence of her father, but would always force herself back to sleep. She really didn't feel like dealing with relatives,  _ at all. _

Now, she was under the promise that she would be discharged, however, her medic was having her wait a  _ long time  _ for the release papers. At least, the Doctor was keeping her company, telling her some story from across the stars, trying to diverge her mind away from the cruel reality; if she went home —  _ when  _ she went home —, she would have to say goodbye to Niima.

When the dorm door was pushed open, her hopes of leaving that place were crushed by the sudden appearance of her father.

Dave sighed as he made his way into the room, feeling like an intruder when they set their stare upon him, presumably  _ damning  _ him for invading their little world. Unwelcomed, he knew he was, but that didn’t make him turn away.

He cleared his throat, looking at his daughter. Clara was sitting in the middle of the bunk, legs messily crossed before her; she wore a David Bowie tee too big for her, and he wondered whom she had gotten it from, although he had a very strong suspicion. “Have I caught you in a bad time? I keep missing you, Clara.”

Clara displayed her lips in a flat smile, ignoring the guilt of having shut out the man for the past few days. “Nope. You’re right on time.”

Awkwardly, he retrieved the chair from the opposite side of the Doctor’s, keeping a fine distance from the daughter. “Talked to a nurse outside, he said you’re going home today. That’s great news, Clara.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agreed, no sure on what else she could say so she settled on saying nothing.

The Doctor breathed in sharply. “I should go. Leave you two alone.”

But he barely had the chance to stand up as she pulled him by the arm, holding him back, “No, please, stay.”

“Clara—“

“If you go,” she conjectured, “I might feel impelled to kill him and there will be  _ no one  _ to stop me.”

Dave laughed loudly, “And if you stay, she’ll need your help to drag my body across the floor after she does kill me.”

Clara bowed her head, giggling with her mouth closed. Her eyes glowing with both amusement and holding back were enough reason for him to rest back on his seat.  She granted a bigger smile after his decision than the one she had offered the father to whom she hadn’t talked in ages.


	32. Righting the Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave Oswald desperately seeks for Clara’s forgiveness.

Dave Oswald’s muscles were rigid while sitting in the chair a few feet away from Clara, most likely due to the tension in the air that he had inhaled. “Do you need a lift home? Because, uh, I can take you. I don’t have to be back at work for today.”

“Why, so you’ll kidnap me to your own place instead?” Clara hissed, regretting the words the moment she spoke them. She didn’t apologize. “You don’t need to worry. The Doctor is taking me.”

He shivered, hesitantly nodding, “You sure? I don’t mind it, Clara.”

Clara tiredly leaned against the headboard. “You know I can’t step inside a car, dad.”

He scratched his beard. “I know that you _haven’t_ stepped inside a car…”

She rolled her eyes until they reached the back of her skull; if it were up to her, they would remain forever there. “Well, I’m not getting into a car. Not today. I’m not ready.”

“You know you’ll have to face your issues sooner rather than later. You can’t run away from them forever,” he lectured, reluctantly.

Clara held onto the bedding tightly, focusing all her rage on her fingers. “I know that. But forever is still far away from today.”

The Doctor moved so he could hold her hand, so she would squeeze him instead. And she did, _strongly._ “Clara just survived death’s second attempt to take her. Why don’t we take it easy.”

Dave’s tongue traveled the encounters of his lips until he agreed. “The doctors said you wouldn't make it. The odds of you outliving the illness were even smaller than of you getting that transplant. And you beat them both times. It’s a miracle, Clara.”

Clara was sick of everybody referring to her as the result of _god’s kindness and mercy_ , therefore she whispered cruelly, “Not a miracle, dad.”

He raised a brow, unsure he had heard her correctly, “Uh? What?!”

She exhaled impatiently, wrestling with their hands on her lap. “If miracles do exist, they don’t come like that. I didn’t survive because the _universe_ wanted me to, I survived because the Doctor fixed me. I’m alive because of _him,_ not because of some stupid miracle.”

Dave swallowed the lump formed down his throat, setting his eyes on the Doctor only to find out he had his own glued to his daughter, even if she refused to look at either of them. “But the doctors said—“

The alien man didn’t let him finish. “Medics are stupid. They wouldn’t understand. Some things are better off left unsaid.”

He assented, before uttering so low just so no one would hear, “Thank you.”

The Doctor jerked, silently conjecturing that saving _her life_ was no more than his _duty_. Clara lowered her head, biting her upper lips in quiet prayers that she would be dismissed soon and be free from her father’s company.

And the other man couldn’t pretend he didn’t see her desire. “Clara, I’m trying here.”

She blinked in a very slow motion. “I know you are.”

“You could at least meet me halfway there,” he begged, pitifully.

“What do you want me to say, daddy?” Clara snapped, for the first time establishing the eye contact, in the risk of burning anything that dared to cross path, _including_ him. “You want me to say out loud everything that isn't supposed to be said? Everything that went through my mind ever since you _disowned_ me? I won’t, dad, for both of our sakes.”

“I know you’re holding a grudge, Clara, and you have every right to,” he patronized, “And you don’t have to forgive me, not after all the hurt I must have caused you. But that doesn't change the fact that I’m trying to make amends here.”

She was quiet at first, asserting her words carefully, trying her best not to endanger whatever was left of their relationship even further. “I went to see mum’s grave. I don’t do that often, it’s too painful being there, but that could _never_ hurt as much as losing my father when we were both still alive.”

His cheeks blushed to the darkest shade of red. “Clara—“

“I’m not saying that to attack you, but that’s how I felt,” she clarified, failing to make the situation any lighter.

He sniffed, studying the traits of her face lines. “I know you’re not at fault for my sins, but _god,_ Clara, you make it _so hard_.”

Clara chuckled, a hint of sarcasm easily heard. “Why do I make it so hard? Because I live a different way of life? Because I chose to free myself from this earthly life? Or is it because I don’t answer to you anymore? Because I stand for what I believe in and don’t settle for what you _think_ is better for me?”

“I’m gonna find ourselves some coffee,” the Doctor announced, standing up before Clara would have the chance to impede him. She didn’t even turn her glare towards him, neither did Dave speak up to remind him she wasn’t supposed to have caffeine.

The father clutched his fists together. “What am I now, five? I know we can’t always get it our way, I’ve been kicked down too many times not to know that.

“Do you really?” she arched an eyebrow, “Do I have to remind you of how you stormed out of my flat because you didn’t get it your way? That’s pretty childish behavior if you ask me.”

“I was mad, Clara, you have to forgive me,” he cried, _desperately._

Clara took a long breath to keep in what was still left of her temper. “I am mad right now and I haven’t walked out on you. Forgiveness is a little bit more than one man’s job. _You_ didn’t want to be forgiven until you thought you would lose me, until you watched me slipping away from your fingers. How can I easily forget all of that?”

Dave leaned forward, resting on his elbows. He repeated, “I almost lost you. I was on the edge of losing my only daughter. And, Clara, you have no idea how much it _hurts_ to come close to losing a child, you won’t understand until you have your own. Because children are supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around.”

She placed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t you understand, daddy? You gave me an ultimatum, you were willing to lose me forever if you didn’t get it your way,” she paused for a little, reorganizing her thoughts. “You’ve already buried me.”

His eyes floated themselves with salty water. “So this is it? I’ve made a mistake and now you’re shutting me out of your life?”

“How’s that any different from you shutting _me_ out for making a choice?” she snapped, unmercifully.

“It’s _different_ because I’m here, right now, trying to make amends for my flaws,” he argued, gesturing wild with his hands.

“I called you, so many times, and yet you made a fair point of ignoring them all. Being here now makes _no_ difference.”

Dave made sure to express all his disappointment in his eyes. “Imagine what you mother would say if she saw us like this. How _heartbroken_ she would become over all this stupid fighting.”

“ _No,_ ” Clara’s eyes widened to the point it was hard staring right onto them. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to say my _mum’s_ name in order to fix your own bloody issues. You’ve lost that right.”

“ _Why?_ ” he shot his shoulders up in an arch. “She’s still my wife, Clara.”

She shook her head, the fire inside her eyeballs being put out by a misty layer of tears. “Because _you know_ you’ll win if you start playing with the wound that haunts me the most. If you start messing with her grave.”

He pressed his lips against his knuckles. “Alright, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t lie,” she mumbled underneath her breath.

“I’m not lying,” he assured, “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry that I’ve let you down, that I’ve broken your heart. I’m sorry for turning my back on you, for betraying my own daughter. I’m sorry for failing you as a your father. I’m sorry for being an arse and failing to provide the only thing you’ve ever asked from me. Respect.”

Clara remained silent. Her lower lip trembled in the air so slightly it was barely noticeably.

For the first time, Dave wasn’t afraid to initiate physical contact and grabbed her hand. “I’m not saying you have to forgive me, I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Clara. But I’m willing to forget the past and start over, if you are.”

She sniffed, feeling her pulse thundering in her throat. Although she hadn’t pulled away from his touch, she showed no effort to wrap her own fingers around his hand. “You… You don’t understand.”

Dave squeezed his fingers around her limb thightly. “Help me understand, then.”

Her eyes failed to focus at _anything._ “It’s dying.”

He frowned, lost. “What is?”

“Niima,” she confessed, voice stuck in her vocal chords. “Whether I forgive you or not… For either way I choose, forgive you or not, I cannot win.”

“Oh, Clara,” he cried, his compassion evident. She could hear in his voice that he wasn’t happy about getting what he had first desired. Clara was surprised when he moved from the chair to the bunk, but didn’t stop him from shielding her inside a cozy embrace. “I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved that thing.”

Clara laid her face across his chest. Putting her knees up to her belly, she bit her upper lips hardly, attempting to keep her tears inside, however discovering it had the opposite effect. “It doesn’t deserve to die, dad.”

Dave rocked her in a lullaby only he could hear. “It doesn’t,” he agreed, “But death is the only thing we cannot fight, sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes, bringing her arms to hold him by the tee. “And somehow I fought it off twice in little two months.”

Dave tightened the embrace, idealistically protecting her from death itself while inside his arms. “A miracle, Clara. That’s what you are. It doesn’t matter if the Doctor’s the one to bring you the cure, survival doesn’t rely on antidotes. Survival depends on the willingness of the being plus a little help from the universe. That’s already as miraculous as it is.”

She felt the fabric of his shirt become wet against her cheek given her own droplets. “It’s not fair,” she mourned, “That the universe would grant me two salvations and couldn’t spare mum a single one.”

He caressed the skin of her arm up and down. “I can’t speak for you mother, Clara, but I don’t have a single doubt that Ellie would give up every one of her miracles to guarantee your life. She would do it in a blink.”

Clara shivered at the image, mostly because she _knew_ it was true. “I miss her, daddy. So much.”

“I know, love,” he rested his head against hers, “I miss her, too.”

She breathed in several long breaths in order to calm her breathing pattern. “Were mum still alive, she wouldn’t have let us bicker each other’s head off for so long. She would have called us out on our shit ever since the start.”

Dave laughed dryly. “She really would. Although I’m fairly sure she would take your side — she always did. Wouldn’t speak to me for days in a row. You were always such a mummy’s little girl, and she made sure of that.”

Clara giggled, “And yet she was the only one who prevented me from killing you. Gosh, you used to drive me crazy. You still do.”

“That’s what parents are for, sweetpie,” he howled, feeling the slight shift of her head in response. “I like your shirt.”

Clara’s smile spread across her face. “It’s the Doctor’s. He wore it in a David Bowie concert once and I’m supposed to give it back once I’m healed, but he knows I’m not going to.”

He snorted, knowing very well how stubborn his daughter could be. “Man of taste, he is.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“Always wanted to go to one of his concerts, but always ended up postponing it,” Dave told her melancholically.

“Maybe, if you ask nicely, the Doctor will take us,” she prompted.

He pouted, “Isn’t Bowie dead?!”

She merely shuddered. “Time machine, dad.”

“Right,” he soon reminisced, “Once you’re healed, we’ll ask him.”

“I’d like that,” she beamed softly, “I’d like that very much.”


	33. The Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara comes home and has to face the death of her pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not publishing a chapter last tuesday !! I was in the middle of nowhere with no sign of life or signal or wifi and rip

Clara took cautious steps into the TARDIS.

“She looks different,” she uttered, each of her hands holding tightly onto the opposite elbow.

The Doctor closed the door behind them, walking to the spot where she stood, unwilling to move, towering over her. They shared their silence for a while, eyes lost somewhere in the details of the machine. He breathed, “Her mood meets yours, Clara.”

She frowned, then nodded. She wanted to travel farther inside the halls of the TARDIS, but her heart was throbbing so fast inside of her chest she feared it would collapse if she provided it any further action. “I don’t think I can do this, Doctor.”

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, receiving quivers from her in return. He rubbed his thumbs across the first of her vertebras, massaging her, trying to ease her muscles from the tension they held. “Yes, you can. You’ve already come this far.”

Although a chuckle escaped her lips, it wasn’t a happy one. “I’ve come nowhere. Here I am, unable to move, unable of reaching my own pet, who has done nothing but to love me and to be there for me. And I can’t be there for it because I’m being selfishly coward.”

“You’re being a coward because you don’t want to lose the one you love?” his fingers left her spine and he stepped into her vision field, however, she refused to look in his way. “No, Clara. That’s a rational response to a situation that can’t be applied to logic. You’re mourning and that’s what makes you human. What makes you alive.”

She lowered her head, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “How can I mourn for something I have still to lose?”

“Because you’re projecting what your life is going to be without it,” he conjectured, speaking with his hands. “And sometimes, that picture can be even worse than the actual reality. Real life forces us to move forward from our lost ones, the prediction only picks up all our anxieties and fears.”

Clara blinked away the tears building up in the corner of her eyes. “Doctor—“

The Doctor invaded her personal space, pressing the knuckles of his hands to the temples of her face. “Listen, we don’t have to do this today. If you’re not feeling alright, we can just call it a day, tug ourselves under the sheets and wait for the night to subside. Until you think you’re ready to deal with the impossible.”

She bit hardly on her lower lip, wishing she could draw blood so at least she would have something  _ physical  _ to suffer from. “Is it… Is it in pain?”

“Most likely, yeah,” he confessed, knowing better than to hide her from the truth. Lies wouldn’t make any difference, wouldn’t make it any easier. “It’s deteriorating fast. Too fast. I don’t think it’s going to last much longer.”

Clara swallowed hard, at last daring to look up and dive into his ocean eyes. “Then there’s no point in prolonging his suffering only to ease mine.”

He agreed, folding his fingers at the crook of her neck, planting his wet lips on her skin before laying his forehead against her own, even if he had to lean forward in order to meet her height. Her lips were half open, allowing the air that boarded her nose to escape through them, landing warmly on his face. She allowed herself to drown in his iris, whilst he gave himself to be swallowed by hers.

“I’m here for you, Clara,” he whispered, his voice so hoarse and so close it sent chills down her spine. “You’re not alone.”

Timidly, she gave her head a shift, her knees becoming weak underneath from the way he stared at her. “I know,” she mouthed, not really making any sound. “Where is Niima?”

Ending their physical contact abruptly, the Doctor caught her wrist between his fingers, pulling her by the arm. “Come on.”

They walked through the inner walls of the time machine, their steps echoing through the metal when their lips failed to produce any fulfilling noise. He stopped by a door, “We’re here. The TARDIS built a room for it, so it would be the most comfortable in its final days.”

Clumsily, he reached for his coat pockets and pulled out a plastic bag. She stared at it rather than at his face, “What is it?”

He tore it open. “A surgical mask,” he clarified, “Your immune system isn’t completely restored. We don’t want you ill again.”

Nodding, she put it on, trembling as she turned over the knob. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the niima lying down in a big casket n the corner of the room, and for a moment, she could have sworn it was simply asleep. She hesitantly stumbled towards it.

“I’ll go fetch the medicine, you… Be brave, Clara,” the Doctor uttered quietly, but he doubted she had heard him. He left the room, taking his time, allowing them one last bounding opportunity that he absolutely couldn’t comprehend.

Clara knelt next to it, biting her lower lip in attempts of controlling her emotions. Niima had its eyes closed and she was afraid that, if she touched it, she would break it. Its heavy breathing was the only indicator it was still alive.

“Hey there, little buddy,” she cried softly, placing her fingers atop of the blankets. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you for a while, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere, you’re not alone.”

She touched the diamond charm around its neck, the one it refused to take off, because she didn’t remove hers, either. Desiring to mimic and please the master the most it could. Clara’s eyes became watery, “Has the Doctor been kind to you during my absence? I hope so, I’m sure he at least tried. I know he’s not very fond of creatures that aren’t me, but, if he’s treated you badly, I will give him hell for it.”

Niima squealed a few noises, painfully, high pitched. When it finally opened its eyes, she saw life fading away from it. The oxygen was starting to get stuck in her throat. “I’m sorry we were stolen away of our time together.

She was about to pet her fingers through its fur when it quivered away from her touch. Clara’s chin fell down; she was certain it was denying her care for she had left it alone to die.

Her suspicions were confirmed when her offer to approach was turned again once more. A loud inevitable sob escaped her lips — she felt like the worst mother she could have been. She was left wondering why her life had been worth saving and Niima’s wasn’t.

Clara sensed his presence by her side, the Doctor kindly wrapping his arm around her waistband after sitting next to her. She read his attitude as a permission to lay her head across his shoulder pad. “It doesn’t want me to touch it.”

He pressed his fingers to the skin of her belly. “Of course it doesn’t,” he rested his hand atop of hers, “It knows it’s made you sick. It knows you’ve almost died because of it. The guilt is eating it alive and it’ll do everything in its power not to do you any more harm.”

“But it’s not its fault…!” Clara gasped, speechless, feeling a growing lump in her heart. The shudder came naturally, “It didn’t ask to get s-sick. It d-didn't ask to make me sick…!”

“To it, it doesn’t work that way, Clara,” he elaborated, “To it, it’s the main cause of your prominent death, and it thinks deserving of nothing for what it did to you.”

“I don’t blame it, it shouldn’t blame itself either. It’s not fair,” she sniffed, holding so strongly onto the fabric of her sweatpants her knuckles were turning white. “Do you… Do you think that’s why it’s given up living?”

“Perhaps,” he consented, “Or perhaps it has been doomed ever since the moment it first encountered the illness.”

She took a long time to complete a single blink of the eyes. “Does it know that we… what we are about to do?”

“Niimas are empathetic creatures, they can’t read minds,” he said, feeling her tensing up, “But they can sense our feelings, therefore I’m highly convinced it’s got an idea of what’s going to happen.”

Clara swallowed her cries, hurting from looking at the perishing pet but unable to take her eyes away. “They don’t tell you that parenting is going to be  _ this hard _ .”

“The impredictions of being a mother,” he ran the skin of his thumb across the encounters of her ear, “Being a mother isn’t just guaranteeing your kid’s survival, but being there for them when you know you can’t. That’s why not everybody is fit for parenting. Not everybody can handle loss.”

As his words were thrown in the air, her face was turning gradually redder and swollen, her eyelids struggling to keep the tears inside. “I want to touch it so it’ll know it’s not alone, but I don’t want to disrespect its wishes, either. What do I do? Doctor?”

“You do whatever your heart is telling you to,” he instructed, pulling away from her, at last. “Judgment can’t be considered because rationality doesn’t matter here. You and Niima are all that do.”

She sniffed, “Are you going to put it to sleep, now?” Clara pondered, shyly. Afraidly.

He offered her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m not doing anything until you’re ready, Clara.”

“I’m ready,” she whispered, knowing the longer they waited, the harder it would be. “I just need to say goodbye.”

“Take your time,” he told her, leaving her on her own whilst he went to prepare the medication at the opposite side of the room.


	34. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niima dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just here to throw some comfort words for I legit cried when I was proofreading this chapter the other day. Good luck.

Clara lowered her head, bringing the distance between she and Niima to inexistence. For the words about to be said weren’t meant for anyone to listen except the animal, “I forgive you.”

Niima squinted, lost in the sentence, but still willing to listen.

She placed her hand just next to its tired body, giving it the first step to restoring the physical contact. Clara carried on, “Well, I guess I’d have to blame you to forgive you, which I don’t, but listen to me, Niima. You’re forgiven. I don’t care for whatever you might have done to me, all I want is for you to sleep at ease. It wouldn’t be fair, otherwise.”

Sensing its master’s sadness, Niima wrapped its little paws around Clara’s finger, lacking the grip it usually held. Clara couldn’t control the droplets from falling down to the mattress at the touch of kindness. “Oh, Niima, I love you so much.”

The creature squealed and Clara knew. It was saying, _I love you too._

Clara pulled the Niima closer to her, careful not to distress it any further. Enjoying the body heat it still had the ability to provide her cold hands.  “You must be so scared right now. God, I am. And I’d say there’s no reason to be afraid, but that’d be a lie. What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that you’re not going to be in pain anymore. Your suffering will end, as all must do. I’m just sorry it had to end so soon.”

The resemblance of a smile appeared across Niima’s snout. Mostly because the sweetness in Clara’s voice brought it peace. Peace any living being would _die_ to achieve.

Clara’s heart broke a little bit when her sorrow was so big she failed to meet Niima’s smile. Even more when it closed its eyes, happy to be _home_ with its master, happy to close it eyes next to her without any hope it would ever open them again. She wasn’t able to hold back the sobs anymore. “You were a good Niima. Don’t forget that. You were here through the best and worst of times. And you did it without judging, but out of love. You were a good friend.”

Niima wrapped its fingers around the diamond necklace, only to have Clara close the palm of her hand around them. They let the silence overflow them for a while, and time seemed to freeze until she spoke up again.

“I’m ready, Doctor.”

Quietly, he walked back to her, carrying two needles in his palms. He still gave her a moment before kneeling by her side. She didn’t end their bound because of him. “I’m going to sedate it. It won’t feel anything.

She gave Niima one last sniff. “Alright.”

Hesitantly, the Doctor dug the needle underneath the skin of its fur, and Niima gradually became heavier on her arms. He waited for her consent — that came with an almost unnoticeable nod — before applying the second syringe.

There was one last heartbeat and Clara broke down.

The Doctor didn’t say anything, giving her all the time she needed. Respecting her and her grief. He didn’t hold any judgement as she curved down and buried her face in its fur. As she dug her nails hardly against it, hoping for some miracle to bring it back to life. As she sobbed uncontrollably against the little corpse that she refused to let go.

As she grew suffocated and unmercifully yanked the surgical mask away from her face.

“Clara,” he softly called her, wishing he could just let her mourn but knowing better than to let her freely in contact with all the germs.

Her eyes were wide and startled when she looked up at him, forgotten that she wasn’t alone. Her lips swollen, her nose red and puffy, her cheeks moistened by the flow of tears that wouldn’t cease. Her chin shaking in the air, were it in attempts of forming words or for her lack of control over it. She waited.

With some sort of pressure crushing his heart, he moved to retrieve Niima away, cries of protest coming from her, but she released her grip anyway. Understanding he was right and hating him for it.

“Clara,” he tried again, this time bringing his touch to her. She quivered away, at first, but soon fell against his chest. Offering little punches of anger and pain he could never decline. Until she realized the vainess of her acts and settled still, wrapped in a little ball between his legs.

“Damn it,” she cursed underneath her breath, burying her face deeper into his shoulder, wetting it with her tears.

“I know,” he wailed, slipping his hands underneath her armpits and knees, properly sitting her on his lap. “I’m sorry, Clara.”

“I miss it already,” she uttered softly, voice muffed by the contact with the fabric of his shirt. She had allowed him all of her body, trusting him to take care of her, knowing very well she couldn’t, knowing no one else _would_.

He brushed her hair with his fingers, rocking her in a rhythm no one else was entitled but them. “It’s in a better place now.”

“You can’t say that,” she argued, although her vocables had been so low he only managed to hear them because of their proximity. “Not when you haven’t been dead. Not when you don’t know how dark and how lonely it is. Being dead is bloody terrifying, Doctor.”

He brought her closer to his chest, believing she would be forever safe inside his embrace. “I… I didn’t know you remembered being dead.”

“I d-don’t,” she babbled, closing the lids of her eyes, “I’ve just got sensations from it. Of how I felt. I remember being scared, I remember being desperate to find my way out and failing miserably. Until I was brought back to life.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, no accusing her of omission, but feeling guilt that he couldn’t have helped her cope with everything.

“You already worry too much, Doctor,” she exclaimed, still slightly shivering on his lap.

“I worry because I care for you, Clara,” he stated what she already knew and she let out a loud sigh in return.

She changed the subject abruptly, “Can we bury Niima somewhere pretty?”

The Doctor consented, resting his chin amidst her hair. “Of course, Clara.”

And they picked Niima a nice coffin, one from a room full of them, one that was big enough to accomodate the animal and its favorite toy. She asked him why did he have a coffin room, and he lamented simply, “ _I’ve lost a lot of people, Clara,_ ” and they fell silent again.

Both keen on denying that they would, one day, lose each other, too.

The TARDIS took them to a hill in the Khagar system, where the days lasted only six hours, therefore the sun was constantly being born and fading away in the horizon. Just as Niima would like, she thought to herself.

Clara watched the burning star rise in the sky while the Doctor busied himself with a shovel, digging a hole in the ground. Making a new home for the perished creature. She helped him lower down the casket, before covering it with dirt, together, until it could no longer be seen.

They spared it a few moments of silence, before Clara wrapped her arms around his waist. Her eyes, however, remained down at the earth. “Thanks for letting me keep it, Doctor. I know you didn’t have to.”

He met her gesture by hugging her shoulder. “I thought I didn’t have much of a saying.”

At last, her head rose up, face almost hurt by his implication. “Your opinion always matters, Doctor. A relationship, a healthy relationship, can only work both ways.

The Doctor studied her expression. “Clara, don’t you remember how happy you were when you first saw Niima? How could I say no to that?” he implied and she blushed, “To me, nothing matters besides that. I would bend the universe apart if it meant seeing your lips turn into a smile big enough for that little dot in your cheek to come to life.”

She flattened her lips together, sharp breaths escaping her nostrils. She carried on staring at him, even when the tip of his finger raised her diamond necklace in the air. He was the one to speak again, “Does Niima still have its?”

Clearing her throat, she nodded. “Niima never allowed me to remove it. It wouldn’t be fair if I stole it the moment it lost its voice.”

“Yeah,” both their eyes returned to the little grave, “It was a good Niima.”

She smiled, for the first time genuinely. “It really was.”

The Doctor tightened his grip around her, reminding to himself of how once he had had a conversation with his time machine on how she would have to kill the Niima first before profiting the prophecy and destroying time and space itself. He closed his eyes, not allowing himself to think any further. “Come on, Clara. Let’s go home.”


	35. The Truth In Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Clara breathed heavily against his torso, strangely at peace from the contact. She had no idea why, but she felt extremely at ease, like her heartbeat was mimicking his. She sighed, “Why is it so calming listening to your heartbeat,” she pondered to herself, out loud._
> 
>  _And then, she frowned at her own words._ "
> 
> The worst thing about the obvious is how it stares at you right in the face and you still can't see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem*, at last... I believe the most expected chapter in this story...

Clara shyly knocked at the door before pushing it open, regardless of the lack of response.

The Doctor looked up to find her standing in her pjs, her eyes as big as he had ever seen. For a brief  second, he worried, “Clara? You’re okay?”

Her tongue traveled the borders of her mouth, slowing pacing towards him. “Yeah,” she nodded, waiting for an invitation to join him in bed. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He patted his hand three times against the mattress, watching then her climb over to the big empty space next to him, the sheets cold from the lack of heat on it. She made a mountain of pillows and leaned against it, her legs messily thrown above the covers. His own eyes could only focus on her feet, “Nice socks you’ve got there.”

Clara wrinkled her toes,  _ really  _ proud of them, but snapping anyway, “Yeah, I’ve got it from your drawer that said  _ funny stock of socks _ .”

The Doctor frowned, studying the pattern of colors on her feet, “I don’t remember that specific pair.”

She rolled her eyes, chuckling, before moving to hug his arm, “Shut up.”

He put the book he had in hands away, allowing her body to cling to his. Her arms entwined around his own until they created a lock and her hands met together. “Clara? Why can’t you sleep?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged, using the muscle underneath his shoulder as a pillow,  _ despite  _ all the others she could have picked up from. “I guess I just haven’t slept on my own since forever. It feels lonely.”

He assented with a bow of his head. “So you’ve come looking for a replacement.”

“I came looking for a replacement,” she repeated his words.

“And you’ve found me.”

“I’ve found you.”

The Doctor sank down his body, taking her along until they were both lying on their backs. “I thought you considered me too skinny and my bones too hard and pointy to be used as cuddling material.”

“Oh, but I do,” she assured him with half a grin, “I’ll take whatever I can get, however.”

He laughed, ironically, “I’m sorry I don’t meet up to your standards, Miss Oswald.”

She shot her shoulders up and down. “My standards are pretty high, I don’t blame you.”

The Doctor merely scoffed, “Go to sleep, Clara.”

Still unable to get rid of her smirk, Clara took his arm to under her neck and pressed her ear right to the middle of his chest. Closed her eyes. Using the hand from his limb under her mercy, the Doctor started picking up locks of her hair, pulling them in the air and letting them fall back in an endless loop.

Clara breathed heavily against his torso, strangely at peace from the contact. She had no idea why, but she felt extremely at ease, like her heartbeat was mimicking his. She sighed, “Why is it so calming listening to your heartbeat,” she pondered to herself, out loud.

And then, she frowned at her own words.

Her frown only increased by the second and she sat up.

“Clara?” he called her name, repeating her movements by settling in a sitting position. “What’s wrong, Clara?”

She raised her palm flat in the air, gesturing for him to shut up and let her think. Put the pieces of the puzzle together that she had been so keen on ignoring so far. And her brain was  _ burning _ . “Why… Why did I just say that?”

“What?!” he made a face, heart thundering inside his chest; so was  _ hers.  _ “It’s just a sentence, Clara. What’s the big deal with it?”

He only realized she wasn’t talking  _ to  _ him when her head turned towards him and her eyes set the path between them on fire. “The  _ deal  _ is, ever since the transplant, I can’t hug you without feeling like something’s off… like there’s something missing,” she paused in order to free her throat from the lump there forming, “Why can I only hear one heartbeat?!”

The Doctor’s face was frozen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Clara…!”

Her feet fell to the floor and she stood up, giving herself authority as she accusingly pointed her index finger at him. “Don’t you bloody lie to me, Doctor. Enough with all the damn lies!”

“Language,” he scolded her, hushingly.

Clara shook her head in disapproval. “ _ No _ , you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to scold me when I’m in  _ the middle  _ of scolding  _ you _ !”

He straightened himself up, pulling his ankles closer to him. “I don’t understand what you want from me, Clara.”

“I want you to tell me  _ why  _ I could hear only  _ one  _ heartbeat when you’re supposed to have  _ two _ …!” she crossed her arms against her chest.

“I don’t know,” he copied the movements of her upper limbs.

“Lies.”

“Maybe your hearing is erred.”

“Lies.”

“Maybe one of my hearts was giving the other a break!”

“ _ Lies! _ ”

They both entered a daring silence. A game where whoever spoke first would lose. And they were so addicted to power control they could play that game forever. And they would, had the Doctor not feel intimidated by the size of her eyes. “Clara.”

Her lips had fallen half open, in attempts of establishing her oxygen rate. “What are you hiding, Doctor? Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because!” he exclaimed, expecting an argument to pop in his brain at the end of the second syllable; his mind betrayed him.

Clara was growing weak to her knees, because she  _ knew.  _ No matter how much she was trying to convince herself otherwise, that he wouldn’t be so  _ stupid.  _ She could kill him with her bare hands. “You didn’t.”

His eyes were hazeler than usual, most likely due to the flames after she had burned him down with her eyes. He didn’t turn his glare away, even if it hurt to see how  _ mad  _ she was. “Clara.”

“Stop  _ Clara-ing  _ me!” Clara ordered, throwing her hands in the air. She didn’t know how to express her anger, but she didn’t doubt her face expressions were making up for it. She stumbled back. “Why? Why would you do that to yourself? I was dead and gone, why would you put yourself through that?!”

“Because you  _ weren’t  _ dead and gone, Clara!” he argued, loudly, at last getting up on his feet, although they both remained at the opposite sides of the bed. “You were alive, hanging by a thread, your chances of survival little above zero! What was I supposed to do, just leave you to rot in that hospital bed?”

“Yes! Yes, you were!” she opposed, hitting the encounter of her hand against the palm of the other, forming a ninety degrees angle between them, “There were far too many risks!”

The Doctor whiffed, placing his fists on his hips. “So you’re saying my life is worth more than yours?!”

“How naïve are you?” Clara spat, “Of course it is! It doesn’t even begin to compare!”

He shifted his head sideways. “And I’m the naïve one?” he prompted,  _ unbelievingly,  _ “We are nothing more than dust, Clara, from the day we’re born to the day that we die. We are both equally unimportant to the continuum of the universe!”

She rolled her eyes up to the back of her head. “Jesus, Doctor, use your head! It’s not like you’ve got any other alternative! When I die, I get forgotten in time.  _ If  _ you die, the universe will suffer until it destroys itself. You can never die or the consequences will bring the end of everything.  _ Everything _ .”

For an instant, the Doctor reminisced what a mermaid had told him not too long before. Perhaps she had gotten it wrong and the end of the universe would come because of his supposed death after he donated one of his hearts, not because of her becoming the hybrid. He pushed the thought away. “We all die one day, Clara. Not even I can avoid death forever.”

“Then  _ why  _ didn’t you let me go when my time had obviously come?” Clara gestured, her voice at last lowering itself, but still holding all the repression.

The Doctor laughed, scratching his temples, “Because I refuse to lose you. Not now, not ever. Watching you  _ rot  _ in a hospital bed was never a possibility. It will never be.”

Clara arched an eyebrow to the middle of her forehead, “I hope you realize how contradicting you sound right about now.”

Agreeing, he circled around the bed, desiring to approach her but stopping dead in his track when she backed away. “I don’t regret what I did. I would do it all over again. Heck, I’d give you my second heart if it came to that.”

“And I’d kill you if you ever did that,” she stated, her tone starting to betray her.

He huffed, “You can’t kill me because I’m already dead.”

Going against his expectations, her face didn’t crack in amusement. “This isn’t funny, Doctor.”

He blinked slowly, “I know, Clara.”

She clenched her fists strongly together, holding herself from punching him in the face, because  _ oh, did he deserve it.  _ “I am so mad at you.”

“You've made that perfectly clear,” the Doctor hissed. “Why?!”

“Why what?”

“Why are you mad?” his arms spasmed widely.

“You know damn well why I’m mad,” she spat.

“As far as I’m concerned, the worst I did was save your life,” he uttered, provokingly, “Did you not want to have your life saved? Is that it?”

Her cheeks reddened with anger, “Of course I wanted to live! But not like this! Not by you sacrificing yourself! What if you had died, did you ever think about that? How would that be any fair to you? To me?”

“I didn’t die, Clara! I’m standing right here,” they had reached a point where their words were no more than yells.

“That doesn’t change anything, Doctor!” she cried, holding her head between her hands, “You had no guarantees  _ at all  _ that your body would survive with one heart only! This isn’t our average day to day risks, this is playing with death. This is  _ you  _ signing your own death.”

“And somehow the universe tore my contract apart,” he grunted, annoyedly. “You can’t be mad over a choice  _ I  _ made for myself.”

“Yes, I can, especially when  _ your  _ choice involves  _ me, _ ” she clarified, her eyes gradually turning red. “What did you expect, Doctor? That I would drop to my knees and kiss your feet gratefully? That we would have a special bonding moment and shed some tears? That we would sing songs of joy and pray to the gods while acquiring a new meaning of life?”

“No, i didn’t expect any of those because you weren’t supposed to  _ find out, _ ” he let out, harshly, although it couldn’t be told whether his anger was directed at her or at himself.

“So you were just going to lie to me, Doctor? For the rest of our time together? You would build our entire relationship on a lie?” her voice was struggling to depart her throat.

“I never lied to you, Clara—“

“You lied by omission! That doesn’t make it any better,” she gasped, her hair freely tickling against her almost bare shoulder, save for the strap of her top. She swallowed roughly, “You were going to never tell me about the thing that keeps me alive. Do you really think I’ll just let that go?”

“It’s in the past, Clara,” his blinks were slower than usual. “Was I wrong? God yes. I should have told you, I’m sorry. I never intended you to get hurt.”

She ran the back of her hand across her cheeks, wiping away the tears before they even had a chance to depart her eyes. “You were wrong for  _ hiding  _ the truth from me, but not wrong for what you  _ did _ .”

The Doctor was silent for a moment; not because he didn’t know the answer to her request, but for the reply wouldn’t ease her spirits. He was silent, watching her gradually lose whatever control she had left over her legs until her back slammed against the wall. And he wanted nothing more than to rush to her and help her from falling down. He didn’t. “I can’t apologize for my actions, Clara. Not when I don’t regret them. Not when I’d do them all over again. I’m not  _ sorry  _ for saving your life,” he chuckled softly, “How could I ever be?”

Her eyes had long erased him from her vision, instead gazing sideways at whatever random spot they could find. Running away from him so he wouldn’t notice all the tears lodged there. She barely noticed when her lower limbs lost all the strength they somehow managed to hold for so long and her body slided down to the floor. Clara saw herself so small and vulnerable, curled in a ball that tried to shield her from the stare that could catch glimpses of every and each of her flaws and weaknesses.

She buried her face in the palm of her trembling hands, doing her best to sustain whatever composure was left of her. For even though the rage still pathed amidst all her veins, she was standing on the edge of disruption — and he didn’t get to see her breakdown, not until she found in herself to forgive him. Not ever.

Her exhaling was desperate, needing to satisfy her lungs’ demand for oxygen before she  _ suffocated.  _ She was completely at loss; she could never forgive him, and yet the image of him in front of her, equally as small and as vulnerable and as  _ broken,  _ only allowed her to see his  _ love  _ for her.

The love that caused him to sacrifice himself just so she could live another day. The love that willingly made him risk his own life so she could still have hers, regardless if she would never  _ survive  _ without him. The love that would threaten all of time and space, for her.

Always because of her.

Always for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... Clara _finally_ knows. let me know what you think of her reaction!


	36. Two Hearts That Beat As One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara tries to come to terms with the Doctor's sacrifice for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your feedback! the truth is finally out there and let's just say clara is _mad_...

He didn’t dare to address her his word.

He didn’t try to get her to talk to him.

He didn’t comment on the silent tears that pathed down her cheeks, tracing single lines across the skin that failed to notice them — or, perhaps, didn’t care about them. 

He didn’t ask her if her heart was hurting just as much as his.

The clock marked long hours passed without the verbalization of a single word, from either parties. The Doctor, just like her, was sitting on the floor, his back to the mattress of the bed, his body just a few inches away from her, however no physical contact had been established. He wouldn’t endeavor something she wasn’t ready to give him.

Clara hadn’t moved; at all, ever since she first lost control over her physique. She hadn’t moved, she was trapped inside her own frame, and yet her mind was traveling so fast it longed desperately for a second of rest. She couldn’t stop thinking about it; about everything he had done and everything he had risked.

She couldn’t stop  _ feeling  _ her heart thundering inside her chest, slamming against her walls and trying to break free. Knowing she would have damn well done the same thing, had she seen him on the edge of his own destruction.

For the thought alone of losing him caused her— _ his _ —heart to accelerate, anxiety and fright propelling its beating. She  _ understood,  _ even though she failed to find in herself the kindness to forgive him for being so stupid. She understood, because she would have done the same thing.

A long exhale escaped her slightly parted lips, attracting even further the attention of his that already fully belonged to her. Like sets of magnets, her eyes found their way to his, not at all surprised to find him already looking at her. Like the cosmic of existence, the black hole inside her eyes was swallowing all the universe held inside of his. For the first time in minutes, hours,  _ eternities,  _ they glanced at the glimpses of the soul that escaped from one another’s lids.

He didn’t cry her name, like he would have under any other circumstances. She didn’t call for him, like she would have whenever she came across him feeding himself on the image of her. Their silence was their greatest weapon.

Clara was only unsuccessful to comprehend why the simple sight of him, standing in front of her, having given all of himself in for her, brought serenity to her new heart. Unconsciously, her fingers traced her pulse, it assuring her that she was  _ alive.  _ Because of his sacrifice, she still had a pulse, a beating heart that allowed her to be alive.

She was alive because of him. She was alive  _ for  _ him. Everything she was, everything she ever stood for; always because of him, always for him. A single tear escaped the duct of her eye and wetted her apple cheek; a tear symbolic of all her love for him.

And loving him  _ hurt. _

She wondered if his soul ached just as much as hers; however, she wouldn’t ask.

The scene unfolded in front of her was nearly poetic; the misty layer that blanketed  his vision was finally converted into droplets stubborn enough to path into his skin; tears originated in the pain of seeing her suffering. His hand was quick to weep them away, following straight towards his hair as an excuse for his sudden movement,  _ hopeful  _ that she hadn’t noticed his display of emotion.

Even though she  _ had,  _ she was already too troubled dealing with her own feelings. Even though his silent cry was confirmation enough of her questions;  _ loving her hurt him. _

She wished she could rub his pain away. She wished she hadn’t gotten into that stupid crash and had both their lives changed forever. She wished the Doctor would have only gotten to the hospital after she had perished. She wished she could silence her love and her hatred for him, for what he had done. She wished she could give him back his heart so she wouldn’t have to live with the weight of it.

For it felt heavy inside of her chest.

“I can’t just say  _ thank you  _ and move on, Doctor.”

The sound of her voice startled him. Her eyes were bright and puffy and he could see the mirror of his heartbeat in the pulsating vein of her forehead. He wanted nothing more than to reach her and  _ beg  _ for her forgiveness — he wasn’t entitled of that, he had already erred her enough.  “I know, Clara.”

Clara bit her lower lip hardly, in desperate attempts of keeping her emotions to herself. She had already controlled herself so far, amidst all the cruel and truthful thoughts that had pathed her mind; she wouldn’t allow him to see her break down. “Am I even human anymore? Or am I just… a hybrid?”

The Doctor shivered at her choice of words, however he forbade his brain from chasing after the prophecies that would always haunt them. “You’re human to the soul, Clara,” he prompted, “And Time Lord to the essence.”

She brought her legs close to her chest, hugging them and shooting him a deadly glare when he intended to approach her and offer her unwelcomed comfort. “Is that why I’ve been feeling so  _ different  _ than the ordinary ever since? I mean, my body… It’s not a common human body anymore.”

Sighing loudly, he restrained himself back and looked intensely at her. “You’re a  _ hybrid _ , Clara. The changes happening in your body are completely reasonable.”

Her pupils dilated amidst the dark. “Is that why I’m always cold? My hands, they’re always freezing. And I’m just getting used to it, but is it because of your low temperature body?”

“I see no reasons why it wouldn’t,” he nodded.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her chin seeking for solace and resting between the gap of her knees. “I’ve been having all these feelings and sensations that don’t belong to me. Why? Are they your emotions?”

The Doctor leaned forward, until his head reached lower than her small height frame, trying to come as close to her as he could without disturbing her personal space. Her chocolate eyes appeared even more slimy from that angle. “Emotions are made of chemical reactions that travel through our entire bodies. For some reason I can’t explain, our hearts are still linked and whatever mine feels, so does yours. Whatever yours feels, so does mine.”

She processed his sentences in a long period of silence, hollow breaths escaping her half open lips in the meantime. Uninvitedly, he rested his forehead against her legs, his body close to the floor out of his surrender for her, his hands gently creating locks around her ankles so she wouldn’t fade away from him. He was tired from missing her. He was praying she would find it in herself to forgive him.

For the longest of times, her breathing was everything that could be heard in the tenseness of the room.

“How… How long?” Clara pondered right after abruptly pulling her head back, voice stuck in her vocal chords, hands slightly trembling in front of the mouth they tried to hide.

Pouting, he raised his head to glance at her, even though she didn’t have it in her to restore the eye contact. “How long, what?”

“Your recovery,” she whispered, “How long were you confined in the TARDIS until your body learned to survive with one heart only?”

“Clara, I don’t—“

“Enough lies!” her tone increased strongly.

His knuckles scratched his eyelids, his head now having taken the previous place of hers, perfectly firm between her knees. “About… About a year.”

She emitted a gasp of horror, pulling herself away from his touch by unexpectedly standing up only to run away from him — she could have easily hurt him amidst her brutal movements; she didn’t care. “Damn you, Doctor.  _ Damn you _ .”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he tried to soften, judging better to remain down at the floor. “I was asleep during most of it, letting my body repair itself. The TARDIS took really good care of me, so I could properly heal and take care of  _ you  _ while you healed.”

Clara’s eyes were lifeless. “You’re trying to make it okay, but it’s not. Nothing about this is okay.”

“Why isn’t it okay, Clara?” he snapped, at last getting back up. “We’re both alive, Clara.  _ Alive.  _ Isn’t that all that matters?”

Clara felt completely small when looking up at him. Regardless of her short height, she would always feel so tall, imposing an authority that her petite self never provided. Not that moment, not when she was feeling so naked in front of him. “You sacrificed yourself! That’s not in your job description! I never asked you for that!”

He leaned on his palms on the bed. “My  _ duty  _ is to keep you safe.”

“Safe? Nobody’s ever safe, Doctor, I never asked you for that,” she lectured and then frowned at her own words, “Oh god.”

The Doctor bent down until their eyes reached the same height. “Oh god, what?”

“Is that what this is about?” she almost gasped, in disbelief. “You were feeling  _ guilty  _ because you weren’t there during the accident? Because I crashed when you weren’t  _ there  _ to catch me and keep me safe?!”

His face muscles tensed up. “Had I arrived at your place earlier, you wouldn’t have been in that bike to  _ die,  _ Clara.”

“We face death every  _ second  _ of our lives, Doctor. I could have had a heart attack in the middle of the night for all I care and you wouldn't be  _ there  _ to save me from myself,” she stated, fighting the urge to hide her head in her hands. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to blame yourself for something you had  _ no control over _ .”

He offered her a weak smile. “You blame me.”

“No,” she pointed a finger up, “I blame you for what you did,  _ not  _ for what you couldn’t have possibly done.”

He landed on his arse on the mattress of his bed. “You know what, Clara, you keep saying I sacrificed myself for you,  _ blaming  _ me for being stupid, but it’s not like you haven’t done the same. It’s not like you haven’t given up your life  _ so many times,  _ to save  _ me.  _ That’s no different than what I did.”

Clara’s eyes watered up immensely; she was sure she was drowning. “That’s not fair.”

He huffed a puff of air. “I guess it’s not. But this doesn’t change the fact that I have a duty to save your life. At least that one time.”

Uncertain of why, Clara took a seat by his side. Suffocating from her heart’s need to forgive him, even if her head still remained in a different page. “I hate you for doing this, Doctor. I really do.”

The Doctor crossed his legs in front of him. “Didn’t you once told me that  _ hate  _ is too strong of an emotion to waste on someone that you don’t like?”

Closing her eyes, Clara laid her ear on top of his shoulder pad. “I never said I  _ disliked  _ you, Doctor,” her words barely made it past the lips that formed them, “I guess that’s why it’s so hard.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought we were past the lies already,” she groaned, tiredly.

Frightenedly, he rested his head against hers. “I really am sorry that I’ve saddened you, Clara, I hate being the cause of your sorrows. But I’m not sorry at all for doing  _ everything  _ I could to guarantee your survival. How could I be?”

Suddenly, Clara freed herself and stood up. She was trying her best to keep her tears inside, but she was sure her face was denouncing her. She demanded, “Get up.”

He obeyed her command silently — he knew better than not to, especially when she was already crossed. He remained still, towering over her, studying every single of her traits while he waited for whatever she had in mind.

Hesitantly, she curled her fingers around the fabric of his tee. Without giving any further notice, she pulled it over his head, making way to his bare chest. Tossing the shirt to the floor, her eyes remained glued to his skin.

And the Doctor impeded himself from calling her name.

Carefully, Clara ran the tip of her fingers against the single line that pathed between his chest. Feeling the scar underneath her touch, the scar that had been the result of how far he would go for fear of losing her. “It’s just like mine.”

He bowed his head, “Yes, Clara.”

Her eyes squeezed due the descending of her brows. “You shouldn’t have it, Doctor. Why didn’t it heal? Don’t you have a superior healing capacity?”

The Doctor looked down at her hands in his torso. “I don’t know, Clara. Perhaps I didn’t want it to disappear.”

“Why?” her nose wrinkled. “That’s silly. Why would you want a constant reminder of everything that you’ve lost?”

“Is that how you see  _ your  _ scar?” he questioned, knowing she wouldn’t respond when her lip started to shake in the air and she broke the eye contact. “I didn’t lose anything, Clara. This is no more than a reminder of everything that I  _ gained.  _ I gained back the person for whom I care the most.”

Clara leaned her forehead between his collar bones, her palms flatly displayed on opposite sides of his abdomen. “I want to be mad at you but you make it  _ so hard _ , Doctor.”

The Doctor chuckled, his thumb meeting the beginning of the red incision in her bust before it disappeared into her top. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Shyly, her arms met around his neck, pulling herself close to him. “Why is it so comforting being next to you?” she repeated the question from before the truth was outed. “It feels like… coming home.”

He quivered, naked underneath her words. “Familiarity, Clara,” he explained, “Being near you brings our hearts together, creating a new rhythm of their own.”

He brought one of her hands to the vein of his neck, the other, to her own pulse. Clara focused on them for a few seconds, before her lips turned into the hint of a smile. She glanced at him and spoke in clichés, “Two hearts that beat as one.”

His lips mimicked the movement of hers. “Perhaps that saying was written especially for us.”


	37. Sex Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara asks the Doctor about all the consequences of having his heart inside of her.

The moonlight was bathing their bodies in the vast valley of Isglinban.

Clara was lying on her back, watching the nightly sky above her, counting the shooting stars as they passed by. There wasn’t any artificial lights anywhere, so the view wasn’t missing any beauty of the universe. It brought her peace.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was in a sitting position, leaning back on his elbows, legs messily thrown next to her. Unlike her, his sight wasn’t fixed to the sky, but on her instead. Trying to understand the universe inside her own eyes, because he couldn’t read what was in her mind ever since she found out about the origins of the muscle in her chest.

For, he knew, she still had  _ so much  _ to ask.

Clara had asked him to take her somewhere quiet, where she could enter a state of spirit that she could be alone in her thoughts, where there wouldn’t be any disturbance — because neither of them had faced a dangerous situation ever since the changes in  _ their  _ bodies. She hadn’t uttered a single word ever since laying across the grass; he didn’t probe for one, either.

They had reached a point in which the silence didn’t overwhelm them.

Hesitantly, he brushed his fingerprints on the delicate skin of her forehead, glancing at the reflection of the skies in her eyes. At first, she shivered underneath his touch, taken by surprised, but soon intertwined her fingers around his, bringing them to cup her own cheeks.

“I have so many questions, Doctor,” she confessed, softly, refusing to allow him into her vision range. Almost like he didn’t have a right to being there.

The Doctor cupped her jawline, knowing she wasn’t mad anymore — at least, not evidently. He lied on the grass next to her, focusing his eyes on her side profile. “There’s nothing impeding you from questioning, Clara.”

He felt her clenching her jaw tightly, ranging teeth with teeth. “I’m afraid… You’ll just lie to me again.”

And she had every right to doubt everything he dared to say. Yet, he insisted, “I won’t lie to you, Clara. Not anymore.”

Clara scoffed, ironically. “That could be a lie, for all I cared.”

His hand descended from her face to the base of her neck, laying two fingers flatly there. “In case you’ve forgotten, we share a heartbeat, Clara. The one thing I can’t do is lie to you. We’re always going to be connected.”

Unconsciously, she held her fists together, feeling her heartbeat underneath her skin. “You’re so used to lying that your body doesn’t even react to your lies anymore, Doctor. You’ve lied to me before, after the transplant, and I was naïve enough to believe you. Your lies go unnoticed to your heart.”

Besides her repressing tone, he didn’t end the link between them. “Or, perhaps, you just didn’t know what to look for. Please, Clara.”

“Fine. Since we’re talking about shared feelings and sensations and hearts, you’re going to tell me,” she snapped, abruptly turning her head to him, “What happens when I die?”

“Clara—“

She didn’t allow him to finish, “Because as far as I can tell, you  _ rely  _ on these two hearts to beat, inside your chest or not. One heart  _ needs  _ the other to survive.”

“I don’t know, Clara. I really don’t,” he cried, his touch traveling down her arms until arriving in her hand. “Perhaps, we’ll never find out. Perhaps we’ll both live forever.”

“Don’t be silly,” she hissed, turning her body sideways to properly face him, “No one lives forever. You said so yourself. I just don’t want to die and take you with me.”

“I’m not being silly, I’m speculating,” he reasoned, their holding hands falling to the ground, “Maybe, by having my heart, you’ve acquired a regenerating ability.”

“Or, maybe, you’ve lost yours by  _ giving me your heart, _ ” she prompted, harshly, mad at her own words. “I don’t want to change my face, Doctor. I’m really pleased with the one I have right now.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not even when you turn old, smelly and senile?”

“Hey, you’re old and you’re not smelly or senile,” she made a face, “But we’ll see.”

The Doctor chuckled, taking her knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss to them.

Her cheeks blushed at his gesture; nonetheless, she smiled. “Doctor?”

He waited.

Clara bit her lower lip, anxiously. “If one of us have sex, will the other feel an orgasm, too?”

His eyes enlarged, his applecheeks growing redder than the fruit they were called after. He cleared his throat, “Why? Do you intend of having sex anytime soon?”

She shrugged, “Dunno, it might happen sometime,” she shot her shoulders up and down. “Will you feel my orgasm?”

“Clara,” he alarmed her.

Clara shut her mouth briefly, but his scolding didn’t hold her back. “If we have sex with each other, will we feel a double orgasm?”

“ _ Clara _ .”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes, “Why is this such a taboo to you?”

“There are things, Clara, that I would rather find out while they’re happening,” he sighed.

Her eyes widened, “Doctor, are you admitting you’ve never had sex before?”

“ _ Clara! _ ”

She threw her head back, “I’m just saying I’m a woman with needs, Doctor. I might be releasing myself and I really don’t want you to talk walk in because your heart sped up and you thought something was  _ wrong _ .”

He tossed his brows together, “Instead you want me to just sit back and enjoy  _ your  _ orgasm?”

Clara giggled at his choice of words, “Yes. That’s exactly what I want.”

Her giggling carried on for a while, making his forehead turn into lines of pouting. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” she said between laughs, “I just keep picturing your face right after you’ve caught me touching myself.”

The Doctor’s blushing only increased by the second. “Can we talk about something other than your  _ intimate  _ life, please?”

She spread her arms across the grass, torso facing the stars. Her lips remained stuck in half a smirk, although no sound escaped them. The Doctor turned around and laid on his stomach, resting on his elbows, so his head would be a few inches from the floor. Unlike her, he was serious.

“Have you forgiven me, Clara?” he pondered,  _ desperately.  _ Dreading to know the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

The grin fade away from her face. Peering at him, she didn’t need to try too hard to see the reflection of the stars in his eyes. She spoke quietly, “There’s nothing to forgive, Doctor.”

The Doctor stared right into the window of her soul, almost desiring to be devoured by it. “You’re still mad. If there wasn’t anything left to forgive, you wouldn’t be crossed.”

She sniffed, the hair in the back of her neck quivering from the tone of his words. “Maybe I’m not crossed anymore.”

“Aren’t you?!”

She frowned her lips, “Perhaps I’m just confused, is all.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s  _ all  _ that simple,” he argued, yanking a few straps of grass from the ground.

“I’m scared, Doctor,” she confessed, voice betraying the lips that had shaped it.

He nodded, thinking, “Scared of what?”

“The consequences,” she whispered.

For a moment, he considered telling her  _ everything.  _ “I won’t let them happen, Clara.”

“Won’t let what happen, exactly?”

He was silent, briefly, weighing in his options; his lips, however, had a bad habit of speaking ahead of his brain. “I won’t let the prophecies happen, I promise.”

Clara’s jaw fell slightly open as her brows fought gravity and rose up. “What  _ prophecies,  _ Doctor?”

The alien man bickered his upper lip, realizing there was no turning back.  _ She deserved to know,  _ especially when she already knew everything else.


	38. Half Human, Half Time Lord, Half You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor tells Clara about the hybrid prophecy.

“There are prophecies, Clara,” he started, choosing his vocables carefully, “About a hybrid that would be born from the union of two warrior races, and it would destroy all of time and space and stand on its ruins.”

Clara tilted her head, processing each of his words. “And you’re saying that  _ I’m  _ the hybrid? That I’m going to end the entire universe?”

“I’m saying it’s possible,” he sighed, “Especially when we don’t know the consequences of a mixture between a Human and a Time Lord.”

She swallowed roughly, “But I’m not half Time Lord, I’m half  _ you, _ ” she conjectured, a certain spark in her eyes. “You, Doctor. The savior of galaxies and worlds. How can a being born from  _ your  _ heart destroy everything that you gave your life to protect? It doesn’t make sense, I’m sorry.”

“It’s just what the prophecies say, Clara,” he shuddered.

“Exactly, a  _ prophecy, _ ” she elaborated, a grin of bragging starting to appear in her face, “And like all prophecies, it most likely will never happen.”

The Doctor laughed at her proud smirl, because she  _ knew  _ she was right. “Except that my people invented time traveling, Clara. When it comes to foreseeing things, they’re rarely ever wrong. They’re just that good.”

“If they were indeed  _ that  _ good, they wouldn’t need a prophecy. If they knew for sure, it would be a postulate,” she protested, “But it’s not, Doctor. We can’t live our lives based on speculations, especially the ones coming from a civilization that couldn’t even see their own imminent destruction.”

The Doctor lowered his neck, his head being brought closer to hers. Whispering, because no one else was allowed to the words meant for her, “You really are something, you know.”

She agreed, chuckling a laugh that equaled to music to his ears. “I try my best.”

He let his fingers travel through her hair, sending visible chills down her body. “That’s not all, Clara.”

Her features didn’t change; she used the palm of his hand as a pillow, “Tell me.”

He expired a long breath, Clara sensing its warmth landing on her face. “Remember that trip we took to the underground city? With the future telling mermaids?” she nodded, “Well, they told me about your future, Clara.”

Although there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, she didn’t allow the grin to fade away from the corner of her lips, “Yeah? And that left you worried, didn’t it?”

“Of course,” he stated, diving into the black hole of her eyes. “Had you heard what they said, you would worry, too.”

Clara wrinkled her nose, “Enlighten me, then.”

Wettening his lips, he began, “They couldn’t see anything and yet they could see so much.”

“That’s poetic,” she mocked.

The Doctor ignored her. “They saw the universe crumbling underneath you. They saw an infinite potential that could either save the universe or destroy it. It’s like your future has yet to be written, there being branches of beauty and branches of hatred and branches of beauty  _ and  _ hatred. All because you’re the  _ hybrid _ .”

He watched her chest rising and falling calmly. “In other words, they don’t know anything, Doctor.”

“Clara—“

It was her turn to cup his jawline. “No, you listen to me. Perhaps the reason why they saw it all blurry is because our future mixes with our past. Maybe the joint of beauty and hatred is us bringing peace and salvation and  _ beauty  _ to the places filled with destruction and  _ hatred _ .”

“But what if you’re wrong,” he pleaded, desperate, “What if the prophecies are right and you tear time and space apart until there’s nothing left?”

“And if they’re right, what are you going to do?” Clara arched an eyebrow, “Lock me up for the rest of my life? Replace my gallifreyan heart for a human one?  _ Kill  _ me?”

He was taken aback by her suggestion, offended. “I could  _ never  _ kill you.”

“I know, Doctor,” she patronized, “My point is, they got it all wrong. The Time Lords, the future seeing mermaids. The hybrid isn’t me. The hybrid is  _ us.  _ The combination of two people who love and care for each other  _ so much  _ they would push to the edge of the universe if it meant saving one another.”

“Clara—“

She didn’t give him the chance to speak. “Because that’s what I did when I jumped into your timestream. That’s what  _ you did  _ when you gave me your heart. Two people too much alike. Two people who thrive on adrenaline and recklessness and can’t even begin to imagine a life where the other isn’t there with them.”

“And you’re saying our love will destroy the universe?” he scoffed, deepening his head onto her palm. Cupping her hand with his.

“No, they’ve got that wrong too,” she said, showing her teeth, “Our love is crucial to the salvation of the universe. Stars and galaxies rely on our love for their survival, because that’s what we do, Doctor. We travel across comets spreading kindness and goodness, propagating it to the point love shall overcome hate.”

His mouth was stuck in the beginning of a smile. “And that’s your theory.”

She nodded, “That’s my theory.”

“And you’re saying that you, an ordinary human being from a primitive earthly century, is right over the most civilized kind in the universe, the one with the means to all the answers?” he grunted, sarcastically.

“Your most civilized people has got an ego  _ so big  _ it overshadows their visions, Doctor,” she exclaimed, a wicked expression written over her face lines.

“Because your ego isn’t at all inflated, is it,” the Doctor huffed, the bubble of air that escaped his lungs blowing her hair away from her temples.

“Not at all,” she hissed, at last her wrists falling back to the earth, each at the opposite side of her head. “Which is why I’m right.”

“Clara Oswald,” he sang her name melodically, in a way he  _ knew  _ drove her crazy, “You really are maddening.”

Her breath grew narrower inside her chest, making her breathing pattern increase noticeably. Her pupils dilated as she allowed herself to be consumed by his eyes on her. His body so close to hers, them two occupying the space dedicated to one only, even though they had ended all their physical links.

“Stop,” she begged, voice stuck in the back of her throat. Eyes unable to leave his.

The Doctor pouted, his brows forming a continuous arc. “Stop, what?”

She gulped, lips forming a gap between one another. “I can’t breathe when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he carried on asking, clearly at loss.

Clara let out a breath, losing herself in the image of him with the background full of stars and planets. “Like I’m the most important thing in the entire universe.”

He chuckled, a tender sound coming from his laugh, “That, Clara, my eyes don’t know how to lie about.”

Her cheeks blushed almost instantaneously, but she didn’t hold herself from teasing, “Why, I thought I was just some ordinary human being.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Only when you’re giving me hell. Such as now.”

A warm laugh escaped her lips, “Well, Doctor, someone has to knock some sense into you before you give away your  _ remaining  _ heart.”

He rested his chin atop the pointy bone of her shoulder, allowing him the perfect view of her profile. “In that case, I’m grateful for having you to keep me in line.”

Clara dug her fingers through the curls of his silver hair, caressing the scalp underneath them. Her head was in a twisted angle just so they wouldn’t end the eye contact. Her words, then, were no more than whispers, “I know I said I wouldn’t say  _ thank you  _ for what you’ve done. Because you weren’t entitled to my gratefulness for being so stupid. But I guess I was just being selfishly mad.”

He swung his head sideways, “You don’t have to say anything—“

“Yes, I do,” she cut him, “Even if I don’t agree with everything you’ve done for me, life is too infinitely short to be wasted on bitterness,” she took a long breath, “So, thank you, Doctor. Thank you for saving my life.”

“Noted,” he asserted simply, getting a huff from her in return when she realized her words went in an ear and out the other. Because he didn’t need her thankfulness, he just needed her  _ alive. _

Being alive and next to one another was everything their hearts needed to carry on beating.

Out of the blue, the Doctor’s forehead formed lines across it, “Did you hear that?”

Clara squeezed her eyes, trying to locate whatever sound he was talking about and failing. “Heard, what?”

He jumped onto his feet in a blink. “It must be nothing, but I better take a look at it just for assurance.”

“Doctor—“

He held his palm to her, glaring down at her half laid, half seated body still in the ground. “You stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes followed him gradually stepping away from her. “And if you’re not?!”

“Then you ask the TARDIS to take you home,” he shouted from the distance, “ _ Politely! _ ”

Clara ignored his instructions, “Can’t I come with you?”

“Somebody needs to guard the TARDIS!” he lied, his figure disappearing in the midst of the bushes from the forest that surround the field, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Clara puffed in disdain, throwing her head back. Telling herself how she would be sure to give him hell once he returned.


	39. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finds himself captured by a native tribe and Clara must come to his rescue.

Clara was growing impatient by the second, judging it had been an  _ eternity  _ ever since the Doctor had left her behind to presumably  _ guard  _ a time machine that had done a very good job on guarding herself for the past couple thousand years.

She had come to the conclusion that watching the starry night on her own wasn’t remotely as amazing as watching it with an alien man telling her tales from across all time and space.

Clara bit down on her fingernails, trying to ignore the fright that was coming from her insides. Because she wasn’t  _ scared,  _ she knew he would  _ eventually  _ come back in one piece. She had no reason to be afraid, how come were her guts turning inside out?

And then, it hit her like an earthquake — she felt like the stupidest person alive.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she groaned to herself, forcing her feet back up. Whatever had happened to him, he was  _ scared,  _ terrified; she had been naïve enough to ignore those sensations. Taking a deep breath, she pushed his instructions to the back of her mind and paced carefully towards the same set of trees he had dove himself into.

Clara had her arms stretched at a certain length, in attempts of not hitting her face into anything that might come on her dark way. She kept one ear out for whatever the Doctor had heard so long before, but the only noise that she could hear was the one coming from her feet against leaves and sticks.

Her breathing was sharp inside her chest, and she wasn’t sure from whom her current fright was coming from. The only light coming from the stars was being obstructed by the roof of the trees, making each of her steps extra cautious before it led her to a nasty fall.

“Doctor?” she called for him, voice on edge. Squinting her eyes trying to improve her sight. There was no answer.

Clara wandered for a long time, with no idea how she would get back to the TARDIS. Praying she would find him before she was forced to give up and ask the time machine  _ politely  _ to take her home, heart stuck in the throat for leaving him behind but knowing he’d be pleased that she did.

Until, finally, the sound of drums echoed in the distance.

“So that’s what you were talking about…” she mumbled to herself, allowing her feet to follow the origins of the music. The closer she got, the less dense the forest became.

By the time she reached the borders of the woods, she was met by the bright light from a fire. It was a small civilization, she could hear them singing and dancing and playing instruments somewhere in the village, and yet no matter how much she tried not to judge a book by its cover, her plans were to seek and locate the Doctor and get out of there as quickly as they could.

But her plans went out the drain the moment she took the wrong turn and encountered three men with strong builts, their heights so big they appeared to be twice her size. The moment they spotted her, they drew their weapons, in attack position.

Clara wouldn’t be crazy enough to try and escape them. Instead, she raised her hand in the air, a mixture between redemption and amicable waving motions. “Hello there.”

They brought their sharp swords closer to her, ready to fight. “Who are you?”

She took a step back, attempting to free herself from the blades, only to have them bring the cutting edge against the skin of her torso. “I’m Clara,” she cleared her throat, “I’ve lost a friend. Maybe you've seen him? He’s about this tall, grey hair that looks like a nest about to pop out a bird on its bad days, a sharp tongue that you’ll want to cut off once it starts talking and a set of shades he’ll insist on wearing no matter how dark it is. Have you seen him?”

They eyed each other suspiciously. “We have your friend. We’ll take you to him.”

She let out a squeal and forced a smile. “Really? That’s so sweet of you guys.”

“Hush now,” they demanded, poking her towards wherever the Doctor was located.

* * *

 

Clara was pushed inside a dark cell room which door was pulled close before she even had the chance to find her balance back.

That didn’t stop her from yelling at their captors, “Thank you! That was so thoughtful of you! Really, I would never think of looking for him inside a small dark room that held every similarity to a  _ prison cell _ ! You’ve saved me quite the time and effort.”

She huffed angrily when they laughed at her, before walking away.

“ _ Clara?! _ ”

At the call of her name, she turned around, trying to shape the Doctor’s frame in the midst of penumbra but not making any farther than the borders of his body. She exhaled deeply, not moving an inch, expecting he would be the one to walk up closer to her.

And he was. Running towards her and placing his hands on her shoulder pads within angry gestures. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“Saving you, of course!” Clara condemned in a high pitched tone, mimicking his movements by placing her palms across his upper arms — she couldn’t reach any higher.

The Doctor scoffed, “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint but you’re not doing a fairly good job.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Breaking the physical contact, she brought her arms crossed underneath her breasts. “So? Where are we?”

“Some native village, still pretty primitive,” he shrugged, “They’re having a ritual tonight, offering the gods gifts and then sharing the gifts with one another, as a form of bonding.”

“Yeah?” she arched her brows, “What are they offering?”

“Me, apparently.”

Clara nodded slowly, “Not an easy day to be you, clearly.”

“And then you, I assume.”

“... or me,” she finished her sentence, clenching her jaw, “Any plans to getting us out of here before we end up being eaten by cannibals?”

The Doctor agreed, hopping back to where he was lodged when she first arrived, “Yes, I’m building a key to unlock that door.”

Unlike him, Clara paced slowly towards the same spot. “Can’t you use your sonic shades?”

He sank down, back anchored against the wall. “Did I mention they’re too primitive to have buildings made of anything rather than wood?”

“Fair enough,” she grunted, reluctantly dropping herself next to him, “You really need to get a wood function in that thing.”

“It’s not that easy, Clara,” he moaned, annoyedly. “Wood is too primitive for the high-tech of the sonic.”

“The TARDIS is made of wood and yet you would slap anyone who dared to call her  _ primitive, _ ” she muffed underneath her breath.

The Doctor mumbled a few words she couldn’t possibly understand, before adding, “I’m trying to save our lives here, Clara.”

“Fine,” she threw her hands on the air, before allowing her body to fall to the floor, head landing on his lap, getting a puff from him in return, but no other signs of freeing himself from her touch.


	40. The Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While trying to escape their captors, Clara learns that the Doctor had been by her side during the crash.

The Doctor didn’t allow the silence to prevail for too long, going against his own previous statement of requiring some peace from her. “Clara? How did you know I had been caught?”

Clara sank her head onto him, playing with the fabric of his trousers. “You were scared. I knew something was wrong.”

He baffled, ironically. “I was  _ not  _ scared.”

“Yes, you were,” she contested, “I felt it, Doctor. You can lie to me but you can’t hide your feelings from me. Not anymore.”

He sniffed, resting one of his wrists against the back of her head whilst working on the  _ presumably  _ key. “Fine. I might have been afraid, but not for myself.”

Her hands stopped still out of the blue. Her words came no higher than a whisper, “For what, then?”

The sound of his chuckle echoed through her hearing canal, “Isn’t it obvious? For you, Clara. I was scared for leaving you alone, that you would do something stupid such as diving into the woods to look for me — which you did — and you’d end up getting caught as well — which you also did — and you’d have your head cut off before I had the chance to get out of here — which,  _ fortunately,  _ you didn’t — and I would stumble into your headless body and  _ hate  _ myself for the rest of eternity for letting you die, again.”

Sensing a lump get stuck in her throat, she turned her eyes to look at  _ him,  _ even if he was too focused on whatever he was constructing. “I’m not dead nor headless nor  _ heartless,  _ Doctor.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Clara whiffed, tugging herself into his body, wrapping her fingers around his tee and pulling it closer to her. Letting his sent invade her nostrils. “Doctor?”

He waited.

“That one day, before you took me to that futuristic hospital… I experienced those electric shocks or whatever. What were you doing?”

His face muscles froze for a single millisecond. “It doesn’t matter, Clara.”

“Yes, it  _ does  _ matter,” she insisted, “I’m entitled to the truth, Doctor.”

He rose the key in the air, blocking her from his vision range,  _ he knew.  _ “I went back in time, is all.”

Clara shook her head, “It’s  _ never  _ that simple. What are you hiding?”

“I hadn’t realized our hearts were  _ connected  _ back then,” he stated, “Otherwise I’d never have put myself through  _ that _ .”

“You still haven’t specified what  _ that  _ is,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Clara.”

“Tell me,” she was nearly  _ begging,  _ eyes half staring at the ceiling, half looking up at his chin.

For a while, he made himself busy with his work, but Clara was patient — it wasn’t like she had anything else to do. “I… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

She frowned. “When was I alone?”

His hollow breaths were  _ loud.  _ “During the crash.”

“But I wasn’t,” she said, blinking slowly, “There was someone there. I have no idea who they were but they held my hand and helped me remain calm. They talked to me so I wouldn’t fall unconscious, even if I couldn’t provide any feedback. I wasn’t alone.”

“Exactly,” was all he said.

Clara glanced at him funnily and then, she  _ understood.  _ “Oh,” her jaw fell down, “You were there. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Yeah,” his tone was deep and hoarse, “I didn’t need you to know that I was there, Clara. I just needed you to know that you weren’t  _ alone _ .”

“Still, you should have told me,” she uttered, softly, words losing themselves in the air before they traveled too far away from her mouth, “So I could properly thank you.”

The Doctor scoffed, “There’s nothing to thank for. I need you  _ alive _ , I don’t need your thankfulness.”

“There’s so much to thank for, Doctor,” she argued, staring into his eyes even though they refused to glare back. “You gave me your heart. You were  _ there  _ when I needed you the most. I know you won’t hear me, but I owe you my life. And for that, I am thankful.”

And he didn’t, changing the subject abruptly, “You were dying in that street, Clara, and from the way your eyes were large and failing to focus at anything at all, I knew  _ you knew  _ you were dying, too. I couldn’t let that happen, not when I could have done  _ anything  _ to make sure you’d live.”

“You already knew I wouldn’t die. You had already saved me. You had already given me your heart.”

“Your past had already been written, yes, but that was my present, Clara, and I was still building it. Maybe your survival relied entirely on something I had yet to do,” at last, his fingers fell to her forehead, caressing the skin of her temples and feeling  _ their heartbeat  _ underneath his fingertips. “That’s why when I saw you coding inside that ambulance, I didn’t even flinch. My hands were doing their best to stop you from bleeding to death, I couldn’t just remove them so the paramedics could try and get your heart beating again. So I told them to ignore my presence there and shock you nonetheless.”

Clara gulped hard, shivering at his sentences. “So you were putting yourself under all that electricity, all that pain, just to stop my bleeding?”

He suddenly ended all the physical contact, holding the nearly done key between his thumb and index. “I’m sorry, had I know you would have suffered the same I did, I wouldn’t have done that. I would have found other ways to help you.”

At last, Clara forced herself into a sitting position. “Stop apologizing, Doctor.”

“Sorry,” he grunted, only then realizing his words had been an apology themselves. He didn’t apologize for that.

Tiredly, she placed her head on the curve between his neck and shoulder, hugging him as she did so. Giving him all of her because, she knew, he had already done the same for her. Uttering so tenderly he could only hear due to their proximity, “Thank you, Doctor.”

He awkwardly wrapped one of his arms around her waistband, making her words, his, “Stop thanking me, Clara.”

He felt her warm grin against his skin, before pulling away. Looking at her, her smile had yet to fade away. “Are you going to get us out of here, now?”

He nodded, helping her up her feet, “Let’s escape some cannibals, shall we?”

* * *

 

The Doctor and Clara Oswald ran for their lives until their bodies were hidden amidst the dark shadows of the woods.

He had his sonic shades on, granting him a night vision that would help them find their way. Clara, however, was holding tightly onto his wrist, knowing she would get lost if she dared to let go. Even if she was struggling to keep her small legs at pace with his giant steps.

Behind them, they could hear the screams of war from the cannibals chasing them. Because, of course, they had to run into the natives during their escape. The Doctor was quickly pulling her through the trees, praying she wouldn’t trip over.

“Do you even know where we’re going!” Clara asked in a hushed yell, her body automatically copying every little movement of his.

“Anywhere away from here is fine by me,” he snapped, the light from the fire torches behind them almost lighting up their path.  _ Almost _ . “Don’t you think?!”

“Anywhere until we end up at the hands of  _ another  _ native tribe and we’ll be held captive by  _ them  _ instead,” Clara retorted, ferociously. 

The Doctor stopped dead on his track — getting her to bump into him — only to stare down at her and yelp,  _ “Clara!” _

She pushed him to return to their running.

As soon as he did, he let out, “The sonic is tracking down the TARDIS, don’t worry.”

Hadn't the Doctor been so busy looking behind his shoulder, both at her and at the warriors a few feet behind, he wouldn’t have stumbled on his own legs and landed on the floor, turning his ankle in a spinned angle in the process.

“Doctor!” Clara cried as she dropped to her knees, helping him turn on his back, “Doctor, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I think… I think I’ve twisted my ankle,” he speculated, touching the skin of his swollen limb and regretting it almost immediately.

“Are you kidding me,” she cursed beneath her breath, trading looks between him and the approaching warriors.

He pulled her hand to him, just above his heart, “Go. I’ll just slow you down. I’ll find another way, just  _ leave  _ while you still have a chance, Clara.”

Clara rolled her eyes at the hint of dramacy in his voice. She placed her fists under his armpits. “Come on, stand up. I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Clara—“

After she had forced him up, she allowed him to rely his weight onto her. “Shut up and move. They’re getting close.”

He judged better than to crossfire her and risk being scolded at,  _ again _ .

“And give me that,” she unmercifully grabbed the shades away from his face. As they went, the Doctor hopped on his good feet, making Clara squeal each time he lost balance when he landed back to the ground.

The burning light of torches behind was growing nearer by the second.

Clara tried to get him to move faster, despite the risks of him twisting his  _ other  _ ankle while doing so. “Come on, I think I can see the field where the TARDIS is landed from here.”

“Can you really?” he doubted, although his eyes remained down at the ground.

“Yes, hurry up.”

They finally reached the wooden box, Clara’s hand shaking with adrenaline as she tried to insert the key into the lock. She pushed the Doctor inside, closing the door just at the same time the natives emerged out of the woods.


	41. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara receives a call from the police which leaves her in an impasse.

Clara helped the Doctor settle on her couch, forcing him to lie on his back.

“You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” she pondered, placing a cold wet cloth over his injured ankle, ignoring his flinch at the contact — part of her was  _ sure  _ he was just overreacting. Or maybe,  _ she  _ was.

“Yes, Clara,” he stated for the zillionth time, sinking his head down into a mountain of pillows, “It’s just a little swollen. Give it some time and it’ll be good as new.”

“Doctor, you can barely stand,” she argued, “It’s a miracle, actually, that we’re not being feasted upon as a matter of now.”

He folded his arms against his chest. “I wouldn’t have let you be  _ dinnered.  _ I would have thought of something.”

“Such as having yourself eaten so they wouldn’t be  _ hungry  _ anymore by the time they got to me?” she arched an eyebrow, “It was a big village. They would have sacrificed us  _ simultaneously. _ ”

The Doctor ignored her completely. “Speaking about feasting, what do you say about a breakfast in 1920s Paris? I’m quite hungry. Are you hungry?”

She shook her head disapprovingly. “ _ We  _ are not going anywhere until you’re healed, Mister. For now, the most adrenaline you’re getting is from a  _ Star Wars  _ marathon on the telly.”

He whiffed, “Watching Jar Jar Binks through a screen isn’t  _ nearly  _ as fun as actually  _ hanging out  _ with Jar Jar Binks.”

“It is, however, what you’re getting today,” she clarified, giving him the look before his vocal chords had the chance to emit the words his lips were ready to protest, “Would you like some tea?”

“I thought I was being deprived of all the good in life until my ankle completely healed,” he cried like a baby.

Clara granted him a twisted smile, “Tea it is, then.”

She was halfway towards the kitchen when her phone started buzzing. At first, she decided against answering it, but changed her mind around the third ring, raising the mobile to her ear and quietly asking for an identification.

The Doctor watched her from the distance. Studying the happy expression on her face suddenly be replaced by traits of fear and worry. Analyzing how her hand lost the grip around the phone it still held. Witnessing her knees slightly giving in underneath her and she being forced to use her free arm to lean onto the wall to find some balance.

Ignoring the soreness of his ankle — and the scolding that would come from her —, he got up on his feet. Wincing at each step he took until he arrived to her side, catching the phone as it slipped from her fingers right before it fell to the floor. “Clara.”

Her eyes were blank for a moment, focusing in a random spot and yet not looking at it at all; however, she was quick to snap out of it, forcing a smile on her lips as she glanced up at him, “I’ll make us some tea.”

He shook his head, tenderly holding her by the wrist before she had the chance of walking away. “Clara.”

“Let me go, Doctor,” she demanded with a hushed tone, lips leaving a breach between one another to ease the air path in and out of her lungs, although there was no pressure at all between his touch and her skin; she was free to go.

Had she noticed her lower lip trembling in the air, she made no effort to hide it. “Clara,” he tried  again, diving himself into her large eyes, “Talk to me.”

She still hadn’t managed to unleash herself from his grip — not that she had put any effort into it. She coerced her voice out of her throat; it sounded hoarser than she intended, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he uttered, playing with his fingers against her smooth skin. Silently assuring her he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Just drop it, Doctor,” she begged, eyes falling to the ground.

Gently, he placed his index finger beneath her chin, raising her head just so he could find her glare again; she never dared to restore the eye contact. “How can I drop something that clearly upset you?”

She bit on the flesh of her mouth strongly. “Go back to the couch. You don’t want to put weight onto your foot.”

Nodding, he agreed. She only didn’t expect he would pull her along, nor that she would follow his lead. She sank down by his side, bringing her legs up to her chest and wordlessly gesturing for him to rest his ankle on the coffee table. He obeyed her command. “Clara, who was it on the phone?”

Clara sighed, her head anchored on the cushions until, like two opposites edges of magnets, it fell to his shoulder pad. “It was the police.”

“The police?!” he gasped and his forehead pouted, “What did the police want with you?”

She was silent for a while, carefully choosing the words that would hurt less; she was  _ tired  _ from the crucial pain her  _ past  _ brought her. “He wants to take a plea,” she let out at last, exhaustingly.

“Who wants to take a plea?” he pondered, clearly lost. Her refusal to meet his eyes slowly enlightened his mind, “ _ Oh. _ ”

Clara sniffed, finding the perfect position to nest against him. “They say it’s up to me. Whether he pleads guilty and gets a minor sentence or faces trial and either gets a major sentence or no sentence at all.”

Hesitantly, his arm traveled to behind her neck, feeling the static of her hair from the contact. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” Clara spat angrily, even though she wasn’t angry with  _ him.  _ He was simply there when she needed  _ someone  _ to be angry at. “It’s not fair, Doctor, either way.”

“Why?” he asked, a hint of provocation behind his voice, “You’re getting the justice you’re owed, at last. That’s not a motive for conflict, Clara. That’s a reason for celebrating.”

Clara scoffed, “I don’t want to celebrate anybody going to jail.”

For once, he wished they were standing face to face. Her face lines and the spark of her eyes tended to say  _ so much more  _ than her words. “Don’t you want the man who caused you so much suffering to pay for the consequences of his acts?”

“I do, but…” she swallowed hard, “Who am I to decide what’s right or wrong?”

He traced lines with the tip of his fingers across her scalp. “You’re his victim, Clara.”

“Don’t call me that,” she arrogated, angrily, trying to free herself from his hold but he held her back, “I’m not his bloody  _ anything. _ ”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he apologized softly, “You’re right. You’re not a victim, you’re a  _ survivor. _ ”

She felt  _ naked  _ beneath his words. “Those are the same, Doctor.”

“Of course, they’re not,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “Being a victim means you’ve allowed that set of events to define who you are, to dictate your life. Being a survivor means you’ve accepted those events as a part of you, that you’ve learned to live with your pain. Surviving means you can look at the past and not bring yourself down because of it.”

Her sharp breaths could be heard from across the room, chills being sent down her spine due to the proximity of his voice. “Surviving doesn’t necessary means living, Doctor. For an entire month, I was stuck in that hospital bed not  _ living,  _ just surviving. And something nobody  _ ever  _ tells you is that surviving is overrated.”

He accepted her point of view. “For an entire month, he was guiltily free and you were freely stuck. And now you’re saying you don’t get to require justice?”

“No, I never said that,” she held her finger up in the air, “I said I don’t get to decide what justice is.”

“Why not? That’s only human of you.”

“Exactly!” Clara hissed, spasming her arm a little too hard against his torso. “I’m just human, and like any other human, I’m full of hatred and anger and sorrow and revenge. I don’t get to decide what’s the right punishment for his crimes, Doctor.”

He grabbed the arm that had landed on his chest. “You make him sound like a saint.”

Clara shuddered, “Perhaps I’m just as saint as he is.”

He pushed his back from the cushions as his bad foot dropped to the floor, ending their physical contact in the process. He only desired to find her eyes. “No, Clara,” he objected, “That man  _ chose  _ to put you through hell when he decided to drunkenly get inside that car, even so when he forced his big fancy car onto your bike.

She scratched her soon-to-be-red nose. “Doctor—“

“No, Clara,” he didn’t wait to hear what she had to say, “I was there. I saw the accident. I talked to him afterwards in the hospital. He’s not a good man, Clara,” his eyes were glowing with his sorrow; he took her hand, “You  _ can’t  _ grant him your kindness, Clara, because he’s not worthy of the good in your heart. If you give him a free pass, he won’t learn anything from this and it’ll be a matter of time until he causes another accident. And maybe, the victim won’t be lucky enough to survive.”

_ The goodness came from his heart,  _ not hers. She didn’t express her thoughts out loud.

“Won’t be lucky enough to have a Time Lord as a friend who’s willing to give them their spare heart,” she corrected him quietly, with a serious face. Her heart inside her was tight from the desperate look on his face; his look resembled like just after the accident, where he had still to know whether she was going to live or not. “Doctor, I’m right here. I’m alive, because of you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled a long breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling the cold palm of her hand on his jawline. Feeding his soul on the warm smile on the corner of her closed lips. His grin met hers, “I know, Clara.”

As a form of assurance, Clara leaned forward to give him a wet peck of a kiss to his soft cheek. Ignoring how he flushed from her actions, she asked, “You… You said you talked to him…”

“Yes, when the doctors were first working on you,” he stated, bringing her hand from his chin to his lap, “Why?”

Clara squeezed the muscles of his fingers. “I want to talk to him, too.”

“Clara…”

“Please,” she pleaded, shifting her legs until she was sitting atop of them. “I need to talk to him if I’m meant to make the right choice.”

Slowly, he nodded. He could never say no to her. “Alright. I’ll take you to him.”


	42. James Holliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara faces the man responsible for her accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated before, I'm not exactly sure of what the sentence for manslaughter in England would be. So, if you think the sentence referred to in this chapter is incorrect, please let me know so I can fix it :)

“Ms. and Mr. Oswald, he will see you now.”

Clara quickly jumped on her feet, patting on the Doctor’s  shoulder to do the same. He got up with quite a difficulty, since he refused to do anything about his swollen ankle. He leaned onto her as she grunted, “I told you to get my old crutches. They would do a great job on helping you walk.”

“I’m fine,” the Doctor stated, trying his best to make his limping unnoticeably to the foreign eyes. “Why do we  _ always  _ go by  _ Oswald,  _ rather than Smith?”

Clara wrapped her arm fiercely  around his waist. “Because, Doctor, we both know who’s the real  _ boss  _ here.”

He shuddered, although he was obliged to agree. They walked into an office that hung  _ James Holliver  _ to the door, the man whose name it belonged sitting on a big desk and not even bothering himself to look up as he spoke,  _ “ _ Mr. and Ms. Oswald, what can I do for you?”

Clara crossed her arms once she let go of the Doctor. Silently, she studied the fancy room surrounding her,  _ swallowing  _ her, before prompting, “Nice place you’ve got here, Mr. Holliver. I assume it wasn’t easy getting this job, especially at your young age.”

“It’s my father’s business,” he said with a smirk, “He gave me the job.”

“Right, should have figured,” she mumbled under her breath, not expecting him to hear her but intending for him to, anyway. She eyed the Doctor with disgust of his prideful privilege.

At last, James Holliver lifted his head to glare at her. “I’m sorry, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Clara gestured for the Doctor to take a seat — he ignored her. She sighed, “I meant that you’re the kind of person who has everything delivered right into your hands. You haven’t worked hard for a single thing that you’ve so unrightfully  _ achieved,  _ it was all straightly handed to you. Please correct me if I’m wrong.”

With fume coming out of his nostrils and ears, he stood up, slamming his palms flatly against the wooden table with a loud bang. “And who do you think you are to just walk in here making  _ assumptions  _ of my life?!”

She chuckled ironically, “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”

He spazzed with his arms widely, “ _ Enlighten  _ me.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, before speaking pausedly, “Clara Oswald.”

At the mention of her name, James’ expression shifted for the worst and the color faded away from his faces. “You… You’re not supposed to be here.”

“So you  _ do  _ remember me,” she concluded, a hint of sarcasm behind her tone.

He scratched his chin pitifully. “Of course I remember you. You’re bloody  _ suing  _ me.”

Clara nearly gasped at his implications, “Suing you? I think there’s a little more to it than simply  _ suing  _ you.”

He shook his head. “Clara—“

“You don’t get to say her name,” the Doctor interfired for the first time, harsh and unmercifully — he didn't care. “You don’t have the right.”

James scoffed, looking at him funnily. “Weren’t you the one a few months ago making me say her  _ name  _ over and over again?” Holliver glanced back at her, “Let me tell you,  _ Clara,  _ this grey old man of yours is losing some screws. You shouldn’t trust his judgement.”

Ignoring his assertion to her, she peered at the alien for some insight on what he was talking about. Although the Doctor’s stare remained upon her, he directed his words at the human, “I made you say her name so it would  _ haunt  _ for the rest of your life, not because you were entitled to refer to her by it. That’s Ms. Oswald for you.”

His face burned with fire and he didn’t hold back his sarcasm, “And what does  _ Ms. Oswald  _ want from me?!”

She returned her eyes to him. “I’ve got a call from my lawyers. They told me you want to take a deal.”

James fell back down to his chair. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business. My lawyers have strictly said that I mustn’t have contact with you.”

“Don’t worry, this is an off the record meeting,” she guaranteed.

He squeezed his eyes, “Then what is  _ he  _ doing here?”

Clara shrugged, the Doctor towering right behind her. “Moral support.”

“For what?!”

She didn’t acknowledge his last sentence. “You said it’s none of my business, but there’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Holliver. I’ve been told it’s entirely _ my choice  _ whether I’m going to take the plea or go ahead with the trial,” the surprise written all over his face made her snortle, “You didn’t know?”

“No,” he blurted out, “Nobody told me that. No wonder why I’m not allowed to speak to you.”

Clara uninvitedly grabbed a seat, “Tell me, Mr. Holliver. Why do you want to take a deal? When there’s still a chance you could go free?”

When he failed to provide an answer, stare fixed down at his desk, the Doctor spoke for him, “Because he  _ knows  _ the chances are against him.”

“What?!” she turned her head abruptly, her jaw slightly fallen over, surprised.

The Doctor squeezed her shoulder tenderly. “He knows that if he goes to trial, he'll most likely not get away with it. He nearly killed you, Clara, and the fault lies completely over him.”

She sniffed, massaging her own temples to help her think — she had no idea, she had never probed enough to know the situation of her trial. “If… If I take the deal, what will your sentence be?”

“Ms. Oswald—“

“Tell me,” she demanded, “After everything, I am  _ owed  _ the truth.”

He sighed loudly. “I’ll face two to three years of prison, with chances of parole at one.”

Clara knew her color to be becoming paler than usual. “And if I don’t?”

He ducked his lips in anger. “I’ll probably get four to seven years for manslaughter.” 

Her breathing pattern escalated rather quickly and she let her head fall to her hands. The Doctor tried to get her to stand; she wouldn't budge. “Come on, Clara, let’s get out of here.”

Her head traveled sideways, although she made no effort to get rid of his hold. “After the accident, what did you do to pick up your life?”

“I carried on, moved on with my life,” she uttered, “It’s not like I  _ had  _ any other alternatives.”

Clara finally managed to lift her head back up, “Did you get drunk again?”

“Ms. Oswald, I don’t—”

“ _ Did you get drunk again, _ ” she repeated angrily, emphasizing word by word.

“I might have…! From times to times! How else would I have coped with everything that was happening? You can’t blame me for that!”

“So let me get this straight,” she held her palms flatly in the air, “I was nearly dead in a hospital bed, trying to recover from everything  _ you  _ put me through and you were out there, drinking your life again and risking condemning someone  _ else  _ to the same  _ hell  _ I was trapped in. And I don’t get to  _ blame  _ you?!”

He ran his hand through his hair, “Ms. Oswald, you’re misunderstanding it all, because you hold a  _ grudge. _ ”

“No, I don’t have a grudge!” Clara slammed her close fist hardly against the table, causing him to flinch at the loud bang, “i am  _ mad.  _ Mad because you’re asking for a second chance but you’re not doing anything, _ anything  _ to make amends for your mistakes. You’re willing to make them all over again…!”

James crossed his arms. “It’s my life. You don’t get to dictate  _ how  _ I live it!”

“Yeah, it is your life, but it  _ stopped  _ being yours the instant you decided that your life mattered more than mine and you  _ threw  _ me out of my  _ life, _ ” she got up so full of despise she nearly knocked the chair over. “I was so uncertain of what to do before I came here. I looked at the big picture and everything was blurry. Not anymore. Now I see you for everything you are, and I would  _ never  _ allow myself to dwell on my anger and hatred for you like. I am  _ done  _ here.”

He saw her turning on her heels to leave, “Clara, wait—“

Clara made sure not to turn around to his calling, wrapping once again her arm around the Doctor’s, both to help him walk and find herself some physical comfort. “Let’s go home, Doctor.”

He planted a kiss at the top of her head as they left the office, both ignoring the sound of objects crashing and being thrown from behind them. The Doctor wouldn’t ask what her decision was, although the serenity of her faces told her she had made peace with all her inner battles; and, more importantly, with  _ herself.  _ “You were really brave today, Clara. I’m proud of you and how far you’ve come.”

Clara smiled with the corner of her lips, finally standing tall and free from the weight she had been carrying above her shoulders. She was  _ light,  _ when she had thought their encounter would stray her from her balance. No; she was strong as she had ever been. She could finally make amends with her mind and at last the change to move on from her disastrous past had been achieved. She held him close, not uttering a single word the whole journey back to the TARDIS. Because, she knew.

Unlike her, he held a grudge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I can't deny I hit an impasse when first writing this chapter, for I had no idea what choice I'd make if I were in Clara's place. Hence why it came to me, why leave it implicit at all? Why not leave _you_ forever wondering what her choice was? Still, I'd love to hear what you think Clara's decision was :)


	43. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a surprise for Clara.

The Doctor made sure Clara had her eyes shut before he led her out of the TARDIS.

“Doctor, where are we going?” Clara asked for the millionth time, taking each step carefully; for as much as she trusted him, she doubted he was really paying attention to where they were walking and she risked falling down an  _ endless pit. _

OCD, he would tell her after some nasty predictable fall she had endured, through rushed apologies.

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he grinned, regardless of her inability of seeing it.

Clara was a little tense. Although she didn’t mind surprises, something was telling her she wasn’t going to be very much fond of the one he was leading her to. She bit her lower lip, “How far away is it? I don’t particularly enjoy staying in the  _ dark _ .”

He chuckled at her choice of words. “Worry not, we’re right… about… there.”

She squealed when he spinned her around herself, only then telling her to open her eyes. Clara made a face before finally doing so, waiting for the momentaneous dizziness to fade away. The only  _ surprise  _ she found was the alien man creepily staring at her, his face just a few inches away from hers. “Doctor…?”

“Promise me you won’t be mad,” he required, placing his begging hands at each of her arms. His lack of blinking only made him creepier.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to get mad at surprises,” she argued, peeking behind his head only to find nothing there.

“Indeed,” he reluctantly nodded, “But I still know you, Clara. You’re still going to be mad.”

“Then why bring me here in the first place?” she arched an eyebrow, “Why make me  _ promise  _ not to be mad at you . ”

“I never said you’d be mad at me,” his hands made their way back to his own hips.

Clara scoffed, “It wouldn’t make sense to be mad at something of your making but not be mad directly at  _ you,  _ now would it?”

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest; instead, he inevitably agreed. “Fair enough. But, Clara, I’m doing this to help you. I’m doing this  _ for  _ you, You can hate me forever for all I care, but I hope you understand that I mean no harm.”

She tilted her head with hesitant eyes, “Doctor, what is it? What are you up to?”

Wettening his lips, he instructed, “Turn around, Clara.”

Forcing herself to breathe through her nose, she followed his words. Her eyes widened at the sight, “A car?”

He shoved its keys in front of her face, from behind her shoulder, “ _ Your  _ car.”

“My car?” she nearly gasped, refusing to take the silver keys into her hands, “How did you get me a car? You don’t have any money.”

He shot his shoulders up and down. “I found it somewhere in the TARDIS.”

“Lies,” she accused, “It’s too big, it would never get past the doors,” she turned her glare back to him, “Did you steal it?”

“Do I really strike you as a thief type?” he snapped, offended, “Couldn’t I, I don’t know, have gotten a job or something?”

Clara wrinkled her nose, “You don’t strike me as the working type, either.”

Annoyedly, he raised the palm of her hand in the air and shoved the keys there. “I’m a man of surprises, Clara.”

She wrapped her tiny fingers tightly around the tiny object, until her knuckles became white. “Where exactly are we?”

“England’s countryside,” he explained, “Just outside London.”

“And the only way to get back to London is by getting in the car,” she concluded, voice stuck in the back of the throat. Her veins were throbbing with anxious blood.

“Yes,” he nodded, “The TARDIS is napping.”

She chuckled softly at his attempts of encouraging her. “How will you get back to her, then? I’m not going back on my own, am I?”

“Of course you’re not, Clara. I’ll find my way,” he sounded indifferent, “Maybe I’ll walk.  You’re more than welcome to join me. It’ll be good for your heart.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks,” she mumbled, taking several long breaths. “So? What now?”

Gently, he wrapped his arm around her back. “I know you feel like you’re not ready, Clara, but you have to be ready some time. I can’t be your chauffeur forever, as much as I’d like. We all have to face our fears eventually. I don’t expect you to get inside the car and drive away like nothing happened; you still went through a trauma, you don’t get over it that easily. This is why I’m here, Clara, to help you. Every step of the way, no matter how many times we’ll have to come back until you manage to take that final step, I’m right here.”

Biting on her inner cheeks, she pondered, “Why not a bike?”

“Do you want a bike?” he raised his brows, “Because I can fetch you another bike, if that’s what you’d like.”

Her silence weighed her options. “Turns out I’m terrified of both, Doctor,” she confessed, in a sotto. Her chest was slowly raising up and down, the only way she knew how to remain calm.

Shyly, he pulled her closer to him. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Clara.”

Clara closed her eyes, memories flashing before her mind. When she was asked to sit with her lawyers, she had desired to go on her own, however she was so nervous the Doctor didn’t let her. He sat by her side and held her hand, despite how sweaty and shaky it was. He wanted nothing more than to ease the suffering from her heart, but it could only be eased the moment it was all over. And when it was, she could finally breathe again.

She reopened her eyelids and glanced at him. “There will always be others  _ like  _ him. Always just waiting to cause another accident as they drunkenly get inside their cars.”

“You can’t get rid of all the bad and stupid people in the world, Clara,” he traced lines on the back of her neck with his thumbs, “If we could, then I’d be  _ jobless. _ ”

She laughed soundlessly. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Each step an adventure of its own, they made their way to the brand new car. Clara climbed into the driver’s seat, quickly wrapping the seat belt around her before the Doctor could settle in. For the longest time, she simply stared blankly at her surroundings, not even inserting the key into the ignition. 

And the Doctor gave her all the time she needed — they had all the time in the universe. Not judging, not rushing, just letting her be. He watched as her lips remained half open to help her breathe, as her fingers held tightly to her trousers, as her feet tapped incessantly against the floor. He had to fight every urge inside of him not to pull her out of there, for he  _ knew  _ she had to win the struggle inside of her.

All he could do was try to feel calm and peaceful to his heart.

Perhaps she would feel it, too.

Clara exhaled loudly, missing the hole to the ignition several times before succeeding. She wrapped her hands firmly around the steering wheel, chewing harshly her lower lip. She had no idea whether she was trying to prove herself to him or to  _ herself. _

She felt the shudders going through her body and she froze. She sensed herself getting lighter as she saw life escaping her.


	44. You're Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara struggles to grasp back to her reality.

_ She was standing in the accident site. _

_ She was stuck within her own feet. _

_ She was surrounded by people, but none of them acknowledged her presence. Nor her existence. _

_ Because, she realized, she wasn’t there. _

_ She was lying a few feet away, almost dead. _

_ Perhaps she had already died. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to see herself out of her own body. _

_ Hesitantly, she approached her real body. She saw herself jerking and squeezing underneath a bike that was crushing her. _

“Clara.”

_ She wanted to touch herself, assure it would all get easier, but she doubted it would make any difference. Yet, she knelt down next to her injured frame and held her hand, not surprised at all to feel it trembling. She didn’t remember much about the crash, but did she remember how much it hurt. _

_ “Clara! Clara!” _

_ She could no longer tell whether the cry of her name was coming from her Doctor or her past self’s Doctor. Her eyes traveled up to see the grey haired man rushing towards them, falling to the floor to hold her other hand. She wasn’t alone. _

“Clara, come back.”

_ She watched as he shouted to people nearby, but she had no idea what they were saying. Because her brain had blacked out everything, anything that wouldn’t concern how she would survive. Nothing else mattered, not her ghost, not her Doctor. Just her soon-to-be-extinguished life. _

_ The Doctor clumsily removed her helmet; she almost choked at her living reflection. She then understood why nobody provided her with a mirror during her first weeks of recovery. Her eyelids were fighting to open themselves, there were dark circles around her eyes and blood leaking out of her mouth. Tenderly, she ran her fingers through her hair. _

_ All of sudden, the bike was being lifted off from her. Had they still shared a heart, she was certain she would feel it struggling to beat in her chest; instead, she could only sense his pain. She knew the tears to be filling her eyes when she saw how desperate he looked trying to stop her bleedings. _

_ And she was giving up the fight. She was no longer trembling and shaking, but tiredly starting to close her eyes. Clara couldn’t let that happen, not when there was still so much to fight for. Hence why she leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I know it’s hurting right now. I know you feel like giving up the fight, but you can do this. Didn’t anybody ever told you this? You can do anything. You can beat all the odds and win. So don’t give up. There’s still so much to live for. So many people to live for. You’re not alone. As long as you live, you will never be alone. I promise.” _

_ She was pushed away as her other self was lifted into a stretcher, the Doctor never once letting go of her. she tried to follow them into the ambulance, but some sort of exterior force was holding her back. _

_ “Doctor,” she called for him, and for a moment, he looked right at her direction, although his eyes focused in a point right past her. “Thank you, Doctor.” _

_ His chest rose and fell amidst an excruciating exhale, and he glared back down at her wounded self, whispering words she couldn’t possibly understand but knew nonetheless to help her in her fight. _

_ There was some sort of pressure in her thigh and she soon started to slowly fade away. _

“Clara,” the Doctor called for her again, offering slight squeeze to her leg. At last, she shifted her head towards him, lips forming a gap within one another, skin glowing with sweat, eyes so wide he was bound to lose himself inside of them. He repeated more calmly, “Clara.”

For a while, all she did was to focus on her breathing until it steadied inside her chest. Unconsciously, her hand fell to her laps, landing right atop his own. She was willing to dive into his universe eyes. “I’m alright, Doctor.”

He allowed her finger to intertwine around his. “Are you?” he pondered, not wanting to cross her saying but knowing one of them had to stay true to themselves.

A slim but existent smile shaped the corner of her mouth. “Yes, I am,” she assured. Because, she finally understood; she  _ had  _ to do it. For the sake of her past stuck in a hospital bed, for the sake of everything the Doctor had given up so she could live. For the sake of the beating heart inside of her. She owed them her life. She owed them moving on. “I can do this, Doctor.”

Reluctantly, he ended the physical contact. “Never doubted you couldn't, Clara.”

Giving him a weak show of her teeth, she turned the engines on.

She was ready.

She was  _ heavy. _

Slowly, she pushed her foot down the pedal, getting the car to start moving. At first, the motors were roaring in desire of speeding up despite her refusal, but she was gradually growing confident and they gained velocity across the green field.

The Doctor held down to the leather seat, “Careful, dear, you don’t want to crash again. There’s just too many hearts I can give.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, although unable to hide the smirk across her face.

He only chuckled in response, the silence prevailing until she got the car to the highway. She pondered, “Which way is London?”

He stared at the road ahead blankly, “How am I supposed to know?!”

“Doctor!” Clara squealed, accidentally pressing her foot too hardly into the accelerator, causing the car to spur ahead. The millisecond it took her to step on the brakes was long enough for her face to turn white.

_ The world spun round and round and round. _

_ It all went too fast. _

_ Was that a burning smell  _ filling her nose?

_ She couldn’t open her eyes. She was terrified of doing so. _

_ If she did, she would turn her head to find him dead. _

_ His body stinking of burned flesh. . _

_ She couldn’t stand that smell. _

_ She stank of it during the aftermaths of her crash. _

_ It had been months after and she still couldn’t get rid of the smell. _

“Clara,” the Doctor cried her name, just as worried and as desperate as she was. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost; he doubted she was even in the same phase as him. He dreaded to touch her and make it worse, but knew she was being tortured by her own mind, wherever she was.

Yet, the only way he had of bringing her back was by shyly touching his fingers against hers.

It took a while until she finally managed to come back to herself. She blinked several times, moisturizing her eyes from the dryness they had experienced during her daze. She let a huff of air out of her mouth, almost relieved to find out she could still breathe.

He ran his hands through her hair. “You’re alright, Clara.”

Clara switched her head towards the origins of the sound, squeezing her eyes at the prospect of him.  _ Surprised _ that he wasn’t dead and burning. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to force any noise out of it, before settling in saying nothing.

The Doctor sighed. “Do you want to get out of here?”

She shook her head vigorously, trying to make the path back to the road, however her body refused to follow her brain’s commands. He tried again, “You have nothing to prove, Clara. Not to me, not to yourself, not to anybody.”

Clara fought the tears that urged to escape the corner of her eyes. “I can’t lose, Doctor. I’m tired of losing.”

“You’re not losing, Clara,” he guaranteed, opening the door regardless of her lack of approval. “Look how far you’ve gone already. You’re winning one battle at a time.”

She saw him leaving before she had the chance to say anything else. At first, she thought he was only being funny, but when he started to disappear from her vision range, she was obliged to go out after him. “Doctor! Where are you going?!”

“There’s this lake a couple of miles away,” he yelled from the distance, not bothering to look back. Hearing her hurried footsteps behind him in attempts of catching up. “Thought we’d have a picnic there.”

“A picnic?!” she knitted her brows together, “But we have no food…!”

“Did I mention it’s a lake?” he threw his hands in the air, “We’ll just fish our own food.”

Clara finally managed to reach him, “No, we won’t, Doctor.”

The Doctor scoffed in disbelief. “Why are you against nature?”

“I’m not!” she squealed, “What I’m against is eating raw fish.”

He wrinkled his nose, “I didn’t hear you complaining that one time we went for  _ Japanese _ .”

She made a face, “I’m still not eating raw fish, Doctor.”

“You save your breath, Clara,” he shuddered, indifferently, “You’re going to be so hungry by the time we get there you won’t even ask what are the fish’s precedence.”

Clara crossed her arms, “You feast on your meal, then. I’ll just delight myself on that bag of crisps you forgot you put in your pocket earlier this morning.”

He frowned, having no recollection on how the plastic would have ended up there, only knowing she wasn’t playing with him after he felt it with his own hands. “Crisps are junk food, they aren’t good for your new heart. Personally, I’ll feel very offended if you start treating  _ my _ heart like any other else.”

Rolling her eyes, she hugged him by the arm. “Shut up, Doctor.”

Knowing he would never manage to free himself from her grip, he simply nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Pacing at his rhythm, she questioned, “I left the keys in the ignition. Shouldn’t we come back?”

“Don’t worry,” he instructed, “It’s DNA activated, the only person who can drive it is you.”

“Where did you get this car again?”

“I have my ways,” he grunted, making her words, his, “Shut up.”

Grinning, she embraced him tighter, neither saying a word until they reached the lake, where Clara happily sat by its shore with her bag of crisps, laughing at the Doctor, who dramatically tried to catch a fish with his bare hands and failed miserably.


	45. The Meaning of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara Oswald runs into Martha Jones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I wasn't able to update last Friday, but I hope this chapter will really make it up *smirks*

Clara Oswald was distracted, her mind somewhere far away in a star in a different galaxy alongside the Doctor as she stepped inside the café, holding a stack of unsigned homework in both her hands so heavy that could easily lead her into losing her balance. Still, her mind remained far away from her earthly duties and daytime job.

The diner was busy; not too crowded for a standard weekday morning, however still busy enough to bump into other people if not enough tread and cautiousness were applied to one’s self. A carefulness and precaution that the time traveler failed to bring upon herself. Hence why she shouldn’t have been surprised when she ran into a young woman, not only causing all her papers to fall to the floor but to have the customer’s coffee to drop all over her own clothing. Still, she was.

“Damn it,” she cursed beneath her breath, torn between saving whatever was left of her shirt or kneeling down to pick up all the assignments. Her indecision was so big she ended up doing neither.

“Shit— I’m so sorry, oh god. I should pay more attention to where I’m going,” the lady desperately apologized, rushing to stretch her arm to the nearest table and grab a bunch of napkins.

Although she had the cloths forced into her hands, Clara never once looked directly at the other party. She pressed them to the fabric of her tee, but the damage had already been done and the the stain wouldn’t come off. Yet, she was determined to wipe it off. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”

Smiling with the corner of her lips, Clara shook her head, at last clenching her fingers around the napkin. “It’s okay. It’s just a shirt.”

In a coordinated dance, both the girls bent down simultaneously to retrieve all the papers. Each of them formed a pile; however, unlike Clara, the strange woman didn’t stand right back up, her face instead squinting at the content on her hands as she slowly made her way up.

Clara suddenly became extremely uncomfortable over her expression, especially when her eyes locked on the red line that dared to escape the covering of her destroyed tee. She faked the most innocent grin she had to offer, “Is there something wrong?”

Her lips attempted several times to form any words and emit any sounds, but they only succeeded in vain apologies, “Sorry, I—” she breathed in through her nose to ease herself. And she surely spoke ahead of herself afterwards, “Are you Clara Oswald? _The_ Clara Oswald?”

The brunette folded her arms under her breasts, shielding the papers that held her name against her chest and creating a barricade between her and the other person. “I don’t think there’s anything  _ the  _ about me.”

“I can assure you, there’s a  _ the  _ before your name,” she said unapologetically, standing her arm both to return the papers and shake the other’s hand, “My name’s Martha. Martha Jones. I was the doctor responsible for, hm, retrieving this new heart for you.”

Martha was hesitant — she didn’t know where she stood; whether the woman before her knew about the origins of her heart, neither how much the Doctor would like her to know. Furthermore, she couldn’t read the expression that had suddenly taken over Clara’s face lines.

“Oh,” Clara’s mouth shaped the fourth vowel and froze in that form. Her already pale skin had turned three shades whiter and she didn’t require a mirror to know so. She was glad she had yet to buy her coffee, for her hands would have surely lost control over the hot cup; it was all so  _ messed up.  _ It seemed like several eternities passed before she cleared her throat, “Martha—I’m going to skip formalities and call you Martha for who you  _ are _ —, would you have a minute to sit down and talk?”

Reluctantly, the medical professional followed the teacher towards a table in the corner of the diner — Clara didn’t even wait for a response before going away. Martha could feel the anxiety pathing her veins, more so when she was sat eye to eye with the light skinned woman. “Listen—”

She raised her hand in the air before the other girl had the chance to say anything else. She took her time, repiling up all her students’ homeworks. She didn’t consider herself an intimidating person, but did she learn a few tricks by being a school teacher with not so respectful students — and the silence treatment she had mastered the best. She  _ owned  _ her time, until she was ready. “The Doctor… He talks about his old companions. From time to time. Not much, each of his companions’ names still haunt him, will always haunt him, but he mentions all of you briefly. Just enough before it starts hurting him too much.”

Martha breathed in heavily, trying to sustain her composure over her own memories of her time traveling with  _ him.  _ The Doctor had changed — abruptly changed. Her Doctor wasn’t that self conscious, he spent too much of his time chasing after the ghosts of the people he lost, perhaps because of how lost  _ he  _ was. “Ms. Oswald, I—”

“Clara.”

“Clara,” she repeated, carefully, “ _ I  _ don’t know the Doctor anymore. He came to me, asking for help. He was desperate, so I helped him.”

Clara swallowed hard, dreading to think of his state after hearing about her condition. She never asked, and he would never willingly tell her, but she knew how much effort it had required him to ask someone for  _ help.  _ He was just so afraid, because of her. “But you  _ knew  _ the Doctor. Despite appearances, he’s still the same man, he still fights for the same causes and he still stands up for what is right. He’s still the man  _ you  _ knew.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Clara,” she argued, using the other’s name in every little sentence in the same manner the Doctor did to drive her crazy. “He’s  _ changed.  _ I can’t tell if for the best or the worst, but he’s definitely changed.  _ Even  _ if he still would push himself to the end of the universe if it meant saving the people he  _ loves _ .”

Clara tapped her fingers against the wooden table nervously. “I guess it’s just…” she dropped her gaze and forced a smile, “Everything is so messed up.”

She nodded, condescendingly. “You’ve just got a new heart, Clara. It’s not supposed to be  _ easy.  _ But it’s not that hard either. You survived, against all odds, you’re still here, alive. Focus on that, not on the messiness of it all.”

Her tongue slowly traveled the flesh of her lips. “You  _ know  _ that’s not what I’m talking about, Martha.”

There was a frown, and then an astonished bow. “He told you.”

She tilted her head in the slightest, still not restoring eye contact. “I made him.”

Without noticing it, Martha found herself anchoring her head between her two hands. “Oh God. How do you feel about that?”

“How do I feel about that?!” Clara chuckled silently, scratching her temples and diving into the woman’s piercing eyes, “Well, I certainly feel a  _ lot  _ of things. And it’s hard, because I can’t feel anything without triggering feelings in  _ him _ .”

Although there was some uncertainty taking over Martha’s features, she didn’t try to probe further down her words. “You’re mad, and you have every right to be.”

She wrinkled her nose, “Wouldn’t  _ you  _ be? If this had happened to you rather than me?”

“Yes,” her tone was hesitant, “But it’s different, Clara.”

“How is it different?” she was clearly at loss, “The  _ guy  _ pulls out his  _ heart _ to give you. We’re not talking about a kidney or a liver here;  _ a heart.  _ A bloody heart. Regardless of the fact he’s got two to give, anybody needs whichever the amount of hearts they were given at birth. So yes, I  _ am  _ mad. Anybody would be mad! He didn’t owe me anything, and now I owe him my  _ life _ .”

“It’s different,” she treaded carefully, “Because I was never  _ in love  _ with him.”

Clara froze instantaneously, her eyes widening remarkably. Her airway became constricted and the oxygen could no longer fulfill her lungs’ needs. “I’m not in love with the Doctor.”

She ignored her. “And neither was the Doctor in love with  _ me _ .”

Unexpectedly, Clara bursted into laughter, having to hide her mouth behind her hands to conceal herself. “Now that’s just ridiculous.”

Martha took in a long breath in order not to lose her nerves. For that brief moment, she missed her Doctor and his so conspicuous love for the girl before her. Although his lack of consideration for  _ her  _ had left her hurt, it was so much  _ easier.  _ “Clara, we haven’t known each other for long so you’ll have to forgive me, but how  _ stupid  _ are you? How stupid are the  _ both  _ of you?

“I’m  _ sorry _ ?” her initial shock had quickly turned into perplexion.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, “Seriously, Clara? Can you really not see it? Can’t you  _ feel _ it?!”

Discreetly, Clara searched for the pulse in her wrist. It had erratically accelerated after Martha’s accusation, and she wondered if the Doctor was on his way due to his overprotectiveness for her. Out of all things, she definitely didn’t need him eavesdropping on  _ that  _ conversation. “I…”

Despite her caution, Martha noticed her sudden desire to feel her heartbeat.  _ Their  _ heartbeat. Compassionately, she reached for her hands. “As you’re clearly taken aback by this, I’m going to do all the talking, so you just listen, alright?”

Her nod was nearly nonexistent. 

Martha strongened her grip around her digits. “I don’t know you, and I don’t know your Doctor. But believe me when I say this, he wouldn’t sacrifice himself like that just for anyone. Just for  _ any _ companion. He did it for  _ you _ , Clara. Do you know how many people he’s already lost? It’s a long list, yet he’s let every one of them go. Not you. He couldn’t let you go, he will never let you go, so long as he lives, you will be his one and only. Even if he can’t see it, even if  _ you  _ can’t see it, his love for you outgrows everything he’s ever stood up for. His love for you is bigger than anything he’s ever believed in. And I know you’re both equally stubborn here to admit to anything, but  _ god _ , Clara. You have something beautiful and unique and rare here and you’re willing to let it slip past you. Don’t do it, Clara. Don’t let him  _ go _ .”

Her eyes were glowing, her lower lip was shaking. She wanted to say so many things, on her defense — on  _ their  _ defense — but the words failed her. She had been struck by a lightning that broke down all the barriers she had built around herself to shield her from the truth. She stood naked in front of her own feelings. 

“Go to him, Clara,” Martha insisted, “Go to him and don't ever let go.”

Clara’s hands were trembling when they tried to grab a hold of the stack of paper -- it was uncertain whether she was running _away_ _from her_ or running _to him._ “I… I should go.”

She didn’t wait for any other remark from Martha, getting up so abruptly she nearly caused the chair to fall over. She ran out of the cafeteria, her blouse stained with coffee and her mind scarred by words of love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, this chapter wasn't part of the original story, but after _several_ requests to have Martha and Clara meet, I decided to write this, and now I think it's one of my favorite chapters so far. Hope you've liked it as much as I did!


	46. Love, Redemption, Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara tries to deal with the feelings of love now flourishing within her.

The Doctor knocked on Clara’s bedroom door. Once. Twice. Four times. Until he could no longer wait and uninvitedly opened the door and peeked his head inside, silently studying her with his eyes.

She had her back to him. He had told her to look  _ pretty  _ because they were going somewhere fancy, saying nothing further regardless of her efforts to probe for information. And there she was, wearing a dark blue dress down to her ankles, her bare feet touching the floor. Her back was showing, her spine forming a path that allured him — he was sure it had been sculpted by the gods themselves. Her hair was falling down messily to her shoulders.

“Are you just going to creep over there or will you get in?” she spooked him with the sudden sound of her voice. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was there.

Looking at the door suspiciously, he stepped inside. “How did you know I was here?”

“My heart felt  _ your heart  _ near,” she teased, “Or  _ maybe _ I heard the rangering of the door.”

He walked up to her. “Guess I’ll just ask the TARDIS to replace the door, it’s getting harder and harder to sneak up on you.”

Clara chuckled, at last dazzling around to face him. He wore a white silk shirt, along the velvet with the red lining inside that she absolutely adored. “Don’t you look smug,” she carried on pestering, although there was no hint of irony or sarcasm in her voice.

Unlike her, his features remained serious. “You look beautiful, Clara.”

Her cheeks blushed almost instantaneously, but she smiled nonetheless. “You told me to look pretty, and I know I might have overstepped myself, but you didn’t give me a single clue to where we’re going so I just wanted to be safe. Better to be overdressed than underdressed.”

His lips were flat as he touched the bones of her collar, painting them with the tip of his fingers, gently, like an artist painted their canvas. To his eyes, she was no less than a work of art. “You don’t have to try too hard to look beautiful. As a matter of fact, you don’t have to try at all.”

Clara could feel his pulse through the delicate skin of his thumb, and she knew their hearts to be beating at the same rhythm. She knew he wasn’t lying or just feeding her ego. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His eyes followed to the balcony where a jewelry tree stood. He grabbed carefully the necklace he had made her from one of the branches, next to it being an empty spot where she once would keep the one that belonged to Niima. “Are you going to wear it?” he asked, for he couldn’t recall a single time he had seen her without it.

She nodded, expecting him to hook it behind her neck. He did, then playing with the diamond charm that landed a few inches above her heart. “It’s comforting wearing it. It reminds me of all the important things in life.”

“Yeah?” he prompted, vision fixed at the crook of her neck, “And what are the important things in life?”

Clara fixed the lapels of his tee. “Love,” she paused, “Redemption,” she paused, “Death.”

His tongue snooped its tip between his closed lips, at last letting the talisman rest against her skin. “Why are those the important things in life?”

It was her turn to start playing with his sleeves, unfolding and folding them all over again. “Death, because it makes us so scared at the prospect of losing the people we care for,” she paused, “Redemption, for it makes us sacrifice ourselves just for another moment with the ones we care for,” she paused, “And love, for it makes us push ourselves to the edge of the universe to save the ones we care for, even if it means we can’t save ourselves in the end, too.”

The air was hard and hesitant to leave his nostrils, not needing to overthink to understand she was talking about all that he had done for her. He sang her name, “Clara.”

Clara solemnly placed her index finger atop his wet lips, smiling to him with her eyes. As he drunk the glare of her eyeballs, her hand descended down to his heart, part of her  _ still  _ expecting to feel a second heartbeat. She didn’t comment on it, however. “So, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he remarked, calmly, his own hands enveloping around hers on his chest. Delicately, like all sculptures should be handled.

Her mouth frowned in a nib, “Enough with the surprises, Doctor.”

He shrugged, “It is, however, a surprise,” he stated, right after being intimidated by the big eyes she wore with the only purpose of getting him to do what she desired; he had no choice than to succumb himself to her. “I’ve got us reservations.”

Clara jerked back, “ _ Why  _ would you get us reservations if you usually just arrive at  _ every  _ restaurant we go and just charm your way in?”

His nose wrinkled and formed sprinkles in his skin. “It’s a very paradisiac restaurant, Clara, and it only allows one party under their establishment at a time. I wouldn’t want to risk  _ not  _ being able to charm my way in, in case there was already somebody  _ else  _ in there. Its planet of origin is a hotspot for people who want to lose themselves to the quietude, who want to find peace within themselves. It’s the perfect place for anyone who wants to board a journey to find a new meaning in life. To find life itself.”

Her hand fell back to herself. “Are you looking for a new meaning in life, Doctor?”

The Doctor glanced at her from up the heaven of his tall stature, “We all are, Clara. If we ever stop looking for it, then we’re no longer alive.”

Shyly, she nodded, before looking down at herself. “I should change. I don’t think I’m dressed suitably to go exploring such a planet and  _ find a new meaning in life  _ in these clothes.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” he assured her, “Although I’d put some shoes on.”

She ignored his last remark, “I don’t really trust your fashion sense, Doctor. I’ll be the judge of clothes.”

He looked at her with eyes that had already left, uttering a while later. “It’s a  _ restaurant,  _ Clara. The fanciest restaurant in the galaxy, with the most beautiful garden and forest on its backyard, with  _ no  _ prediction of some evil exterior alien force to invade the place and force us to save the world while wearing uncomfortable white tie.”

She arched her eyebrows until lines of pouting were formed across her forehead. “You don’t  _ really  _ believe that, do you. All the philosophy of life you were just rambling about will most likely go down the drain.”

The Doctor placed his hands on his hips. “In reality, I do.”

Holding back a laugh, Clara fell down on the edge of the mattress, intending to put on the heels that were located by the foot of the bed. She didn’t lean forward, however. “Why does the  _ restaurant  _ only holds one party at a time?”

“So we won’t be disturbed,” he casually spoke, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make philosophy when there’s an alien invasion right next to you?”

Clara tilted her head sideways at the sight of him, unexpectedly dropping to his knees and bringing her sandals to him, gesturing for her to give him her feet. Distractedly, she did, for her mind was pounding with questions and uncertainties that had been disturbing her state of peace ever since she ran away from a certain medical doctor in a diner. “So… It’s a date.”

He clearly struggled to understand how the straps of the stilettos worked; she didn’t offer him any help, neither did he ask for it. “Do you want it to be a date?”

Clara stared at him blankly, unable to find the words she needed. “Do you?”

It took him a while to successfully tie the straps of the shoes behind her ankle, giving them a pat of pride after achieving his goal. Only then, he lifted his eyes towards hers. “Clara.”

She followed the path of his pupils as he made his way back up, then lending her his palms to help her stand as well, which she gladly accepted. Despite of the heels she wore, she was still a few good inches shorter than him.

Shamelessly, the Doctor gazed down at her bare chest, where the sleeves of the dress came together at her cleavage, shaping a  _ V  _ form. “Your scar is showing, Clara.”

Her fingers unconsciously touched the red line that trailed across her skin, its recovered tissue feeling different than the rest of her. “I know,” her voice was soft and calm.

Unnervingly, he allowed his own thumb to trace it up and down, not once invading her space by letting it follow the way hidden by her clothing. “I could get rid of it for you.”

His tender touch sent chills down her spine. “I don’t want you to.”

“Why not?” he was taken aback by her statement, his fingers stopping dead on her torso. “You don’t need to have a constant reminder of everything that’s happened to you.”

“No, Doctor, you don’t understand,” she asseverated, pulling his hand away from her chest with the only intention of wrapping her own around it. It was so big in comparison to hers she had to embrace each set of two fingers with one hand. “I don’t want to forget.”

The confusion was written all over his face. “You’re right, I don’t understand. Why would you want to be remembered of everything that you’ve lost every time that you look at your reflection in the mirror?”

“Because it’s not about what I’ve  _ lost,  _ Doctor. Not anymore,” she clarified, the mellow smile on the corner of her lips adding even more lines to his frown. “It’s about everything that I’ve gained.”

He felt her grip growing weak around his knuckles. “Clara.”

Silently, she leaned on her tiptoes and placed her lips on his face, half meeting his skin, half touching the corner of the wet flash of his mouth. The few seconds their contact lasted persisted the entirety of an eternity. Clara pulled back, neither of them noticing their hands were still joined.

“The scar brings back the memories of love,” she whispered, the words barely having a sound past the lips that shaped them, because nobody else was entitled of their words to one another. “It’s a reminder that the planets bend beneath us when there’s love. Just love.”

He cleared his throat, otherwise his words would get stuck there, “You went through hell during and after the accident and yet you can only bring out the love of it.”

Clara smirked, “Not everybody has love enough within themselves to give away their hearts. Literally speaking.”

He scoffed, “Not everybody has a spare heart to give, Clara.”

She missed his playful tone. “Not everybody with two hearts has enough love within themselves to act any selfless.”

Although her eyes were big enough to bluster him, he daren’t to look away. “And you think I’m that person? You overrate me, Clara.”

She shook her head, disapprovingly. “Why can’t you for once just acknowledge that you’re a good man?”

“Clara—“

“You  _ are  _ a good man, Doctor,” she stated, starting to get annoyed by the insertion of her name in his every little sentence — even if she knew some sort of force greater than him coerced him into doing it. “In fact, you’re better than that. There are lots of good people out there who don’t sacrifice themselves everyday. You giving me your heart doesn’t define you as good, any person can do that. It’s giving your heart piece by piece away until the goodness in yourself can be spread throughout all of time and space.”

The Doctor glued his lips firmly against one another until she was done speaking. “A long time ago, I asked you if I were a good man and you said you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” Clara clarified, “But now I do.”

“People don’t just change their minds that easily, Clara,” he argued.

“Yes, they do,” her voice was steady and firm, because she wasn’t about to just take his  _ crap _ , “You want to know how?”

“How?” he asked with a with a raspy voice, innocently.

She brought his hand back to her chest, before finding her own way to his, where she knew a scar was, too, hidden underneath his clothes. Clara had no doubts that they were sharing a heartbeat and she smiled. “Because of this.”

The Doctor glanced down at their physical contact. “I don’t understand, Clara.”

She sighed, but didn’t lose her patience. “The good in you now lives in me, too.”

He squeezed his eyes. “No, Clara. You were good long before I ever knew you. You were the one who taught me the importance of being kind and how to be good.”

“How could have I, when I learned it all from you?” she prompted, seriously, although her traits soon diverted into a laugh. “I guess we just owe one another everything that we are. That we came to be.”

“Yes,” he was compelled to agree, their hands being pulled down by gravity until they intertwined themselves into one another. “Indeed.”

Embracing their shared link, she teased, “I believe you were just about to take me out for dinner?”

“Yes, I believe you’re right, Clara Oswald,” he opened a wide smile, taking her by the arm as their feet led them out in a rhythm only them were familiar with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, perhaps this diner will lead on to something other than what the Doctor's expecting? *inserts the staring eyes emoji*


	47. A Heart Full Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara looks at the Doctor from under the starry night and says, "Will you dance with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god, we're really so close to the end of the story. thanks for bearing me for this long and i hope you'll get the goosebumps from this chapter heheeh

The music playing in the background reminded her of Beethoven, its sad and melancholic sound soothing her ears and bringing peace to her mind and soul — she couldn’t be sure, however, for she doubted Beethoven’s reach had trespassed Earth to a restaurant in the end of the universe.

Still, she felt her body light and willing to fluctuate across the foreign lands of that planet — The Doctor’s words had indeed been truthful; the landscape amazed her eyes, the sweet smell of nature caught her nose with delicateness, the stars showered above them and blessed them with the bliss of life and being alive.

Clara hadn’t bothered to sit down at the only table available at the restaurant, even though the entrance doors had scanned her mind for the most suitable meal for her liking and it had already been served. No; she was hungry for  _ life,  _ not for food. The Doctor, however, remained down at the velvet couch, although he also hadn’t touched his meal. Instead, his eyes focused on  _ her,  _ allured to her every little movement; enchanted by the stars reflecting the universe inside her eyes; captivated by the permanent dimple in her left cheek as her grin refused to fade away; entranced with the specks of life her existence provided.

Her body dazzled in a soft and gentle manner when she offered her hand to him, “Dance with me.”

The sudden request had taken him aback, his eyes spazzing despite her most innocent voice. Yet, his hand were attracted until he reached hers; it was so small and tender in comparison to his. “I don’t know how to dance, Clara.”

Her shy grin turned into a beautiful, inviting smile. She knew the reluctancy in his eyes, still she was determined to show him how to  _ be alive  _ and how to live  _ in the moment.  _ She pulled him by the arm, very slightly, not enough to even cause him to flinch, and yet the strength of her benevolence for him was strong enough to get him on his feet, standing in front of her. “I’ll teach you.”

For he was the Doctor, and he had fixed her heart; and she was a teacher, so it was her turn to teach him  _ all  _ about his heart. She pressed her teeth into her lower lip, glancing up at his tall figure and shivering inside from the spark in his eyes. “Clara.”

She didn’t respond to his name calling, instead placing both her hands on each of his upper arms and sensing all the tension held on his muscles. Her look was disapproving, so much alike her repression to one of her students. “Why so tense, Doctor?”

Going against her expectations, her words of lecturing only caused him to become more rigid. He repeated ashamedly, “I don’t know how to dance, Clara.”

Not emitting a sound, Clara brought his hands to her hips. The Doctor locked them around her waist, lodged firmly at the base of her spine, where her soul sat — and oh could he feel the specks of her soul reaching out to him. She did the same, but wrapped them around his neck, allowing her fingers to trespass into his messy sea of silver curls, tangling them around her digits.

“Now, what?” he asked, completely oblivious. He was only sure of one thing: he never wanted to let go of her.

Clara giggled soundlessly, thankful for her heels allowing her to press her forehead against his without too much of a struggle. “Now, we coexist.”

The Doctor couldn’t face glaring at her wide eyes, so close to him, instead he focused his vision on her half opened lips, witnessing the warm breath that escaped the gap and tickled his skin. He was uncertain which of them had been responsible for their bodies to slowly board a tender swinging according to the music tempo. Still, he knew he never wanted to stop.

Clara’s smile broadened and lightened his entire existence. She was diving inside the universe of his eyes;  _ god,  _ she could get lost in there forever and she still wouldn’t mind. In that precise moment, emotions she wasn’t familiar with penetrated her heart — emotions always denied by her that intensified the fire within herself at their first chance of escape. She wondered if he was feeling the same; she  _ wished  _ he was feeling the same.

“Clara,” cried he, finding it impossible to  _ breathe  _ when so near her, when so close to being one only with her. If they already weren’t. 

Tightening her grip around his neck, Clara leaned forward and placed her lips in the edge of his cheek. Had she consciously intended her kiss to brush the corner of his mouth, she failed to know, however the sensation of flesh touching flesh, even in the most innocent and delicate manner, made her entire self quiver.

She kept her lips lodged there, her eyes closed and her lashes scraped his apple bones. She knew he was nervous, especially when he didn’t know how to cope with feelings neither could he understand them. Hence why the sudden sound of his voice surprised her, “Are you feeling it, too?”

“Feeling, what?” Clara was hesitant, for she  _ knew.  _ She felt it, too.

The Doctor sighed, tilting his head in the slightest but enough to have their lips even closer than before. “This feeling that burdens my heart with its weight. This feeling that pulls down the stars from the highest skies and lightens this existence, this moment, like they had never before. This feeling that causes everything to make sense. This feeling that leaves my heart heavy, and yet makes my soul  _ light. _ Do you feel it, too?!”

Clara saw herself naked and vulnerable under his words — still, she felt at  _ home.  _ She applied further pressure to her lips against his, and the shape of her words caressed the surface of his face, “You ask, do I feel the  _ love  _ that exists right here, right now?”

Abruptly, the Doctor pulled away from her. The hearing of that single four letter word made him understand what he thought he would never be able to comprehend. He cupped each side of her jaw, his thumbs brushing the sinews of her reddened lips. “Can you feel the love,  _ Clara _ ?”

She weighed her head against the palm of his hands. There was nothing else to say, nothing else to give; she belonged entirely to him. “Yes, I can.”

For the first time, his lips indulged in a smile and his eyes sparkled — that image of him was beautiful and poetic, she would memorize it for the rest of eternity. For the first time in his incredibly long life, he understood  _ everything.  _ He understood what it meant to be in love and he didn’t know anymore how to say anything else. “I’m in love with  _ you,  _ Clara.”

His simple confession of love brought tears to the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t wait any longer, for she had already waited long enough. Clara pursued his lips and sealed the promise of their devotion to one another in a kiss. A sweet and innocent kiss, that ended so soon but lasted forever. “I love you, Doctor.”

The expression that seized his face lightened up even further; until that moment, his self insecurity  _ assured  _ him she would never feel the same way and he would be left with a broken heart incapable of ever being mended. He was wrong — he had never been so happy in being wrong before. Unable to control himself, he raised her in the air and brought their faces together. In that moment, nothing else mattered to either of them. Their souls were at last complete.


	48. Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor confesses all his love and all his worries to Clara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye, so, this is it, the last chapter before the epilogue. I've loved writing this story so much, and I can only hope you've loved reading it as well. But hey, I left a little gift in this chapter that will surely please you all *smirk intensifies*

“Clara, I’m scared.”

Clara looked up at the tall figure of the Doctor, his eyes dark and shiny like she had never seen before. They showed so little yet spoke so much; she found herself lost inside his eyes far too much times. She reached out to him, longing to feel his skin against her skin, and touched his cheek with the palm of her hand.

“Don’t be.”

The Doctor anchored his jawline on her hand, bringing his own two and cupping above hers. “I’m so scared, Clara. For you. For us. For  _ everything _ .”

She leaned in nearer to him, standing on her tiptoes and their lips so close to touching. “Aren’t we past all our fears and dismays?”

He breathed in heavily — because they were. They had defeated death and they had conquered love, even when the entire universe stood against them. Still, he was  _ terrified.  _ “Clara… I love you so much it’s ridiculous. I can’t bear the idea that anything should happen and I’ll see myself standing on the edge of an abyss, having lost you. I’m afraid I won’t be able to  _ survive  _ if I ever lose you.”

Clara’s vision became rather blurry, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Not when she had become so addicted to the image of him, so sweet and beautiful, standing in front of her. “You’re not losing me, Doctor.”

He ironically chuckled, wishing he could hide away the terror in his face in amused features. “You can’t promise me that. We’re not entitled to any certainties in life, Clara. You might be standing here  _ now,  _ but there’s no guarantees at all that, tomorrow, you won’t blow away like smoke.”

Without waiting or expecting an invitation, she wrapped her arms around his torso, under his armpits, resting her head sideways between his chests, exactly where his now only heart lodged. She smiled as she sensed the tension escaping his body at her simple act of love. “I’m here, Doctor. That all that matters.”

With no other alternative, the Doctor met her hug. She was so tiny, she fit so perfectly within the vastness of his embrace. How had he not noticed before that she had always belonged there? He couldn’t let her go; not now, not ever. “I’m so in love with you, Clara, it scares me.”

She exhaled loudly against him, tilting her neck so her chin would repose at the base of his sternum and her glare would find his. “Why?”

“The hybrid.”

The sound of his hoarse voice sent chills down her spine and she immediately broke all the physical contact. Her gaze was entranced to the floor and she dropped herself to the edge of the mattress of his bedroom. “Doctor… We’ve talked about this already. So many times.”

Reluctantly, he sat by her side, although there was a significant space between their thighs. “You told me,  _ the hybrid is us _ . Except, Clara, it means so much more now than it did back then. If I’ve already sacrificed myself  _ for you,  _ imagine, just imagine what else I’m willing to sacrifice for you now that I  _ understand  _ everything. If the prophecies are right and you do become the destruction of the universe, then I fear I won’t be strong enough to stop you. I’ll allow all of time and space to crumble underneath us all because  _ I love you _ .”

Clara brought her arms to herself, suddenly feeling so small next to the universe of his love for her. “I’m not going to destroy the universe, Doctor.”

He laughed with his teeth, looking at the opposite side from her. “Yeah. I know,” there was a tight sensation coming from the flesh that poured the life into him and he found himself wondering out loud, “Can two anxious hearts beat as one?”

Although there was a certain tension hung in the air, Clara laid her head on top of his shoulder pad — he shivered underneath her touch, however she wouldn’t budge. “All I want is to love  _ you.  _ I don’t want to live in constant worry of what might happen. I just want to live my love for you.”

His heart was beating heavier and heavier inside of him; she was giving him all of herself and he was being too cowardly to accept it gratefully. She deserved someone better than him, even though no one else would ever love her as much as he did. “I’m sorry, Clara.  _ God,  _ I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, I’ve brought this upon us, upon  _ you _ .”

She squeezed her eyes and lines of pout were formed across her forehead. Once again she glanced at his face, although he only had his profile to offer her. “You  _ saved  _ me, Doctor. In the worst and most beautiful way you can save somebody. If there’s anybody to blame, it’s me, for being so reckless to get myself in that accident.”

Her words did nothing but to enrage him, all of sudden he abruptly and angrily turned at her, “Don’t you  _ ever  _ say you were at fault for what happened, Clara. Don’t you ever blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

Unlike all his expectations, Clara merely grinned at him. “Exactly. And neither did you have any control over your  _ fear  _ and  _ despair  _ of losing me. None of us are to blame. The only thing at  _ fault  _ here is our undying love for one another. And there’s nothing rarer and more beautiful than that.”

“But… Clara… The consequences…” cried he, so scared to lean on and so scared to let go. He hadn’t even noticed how his arm had trespassed her personal space and held her by the waist, his fingers clinging to the soft fabric of her outfit.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she spoke calmly and gently, caressing his ears with the sweetness of the melody of her voice. She placed her hand above his and only then he noticed he had started the physical touch, “If I change, if I somehow show signs of becoming the hybrid, then you’re going to stop me before it’s too late. I don’t care if you have to lock me up or get back  _ your heart,  _ you’re gonna show me how much you  _ love me  _ by forbidding me from destroying everything, from destroying  _ us.  _ You will do what you’ll have to do, what you were always destined to do: save the universe, no matter what the cost is. Regardless if  _ we  _ are the cost. And here’s what you don’t know, my darling. Our love is strong enough to survive anything.”

Her tone became rather edgy and uneasy by the time she reached the end of her words. Her lips were flat and hardly pressed against one another, so desperately attempting to keep her emotions hidden to herself — it failed her memory that she would never be able to hide her feelings from him. Her eyes were damper than before, bringing out the sparkles they held inside of them. 

“Clara.”

“Promise me,” she begged, looking directly at his eyes and knowing she had him under the mercy of her glare. “Promise me, if it ever comes to it, you’ll let me go. You’ll learn to let me go before it’s too late and you’ll end up hating me forever.”

“I could never hate you, Clara.”

“ _ Promise me, _ ” she demanded, the blood pouding vigorously from her heart.

He brought his thumbs just under her eyes, wiping away the tears long before they even had the chance to escape. “I promise, Clara.”

Clara unexpectedly and desperately launched forwards to catch his lips in a kiss, for the only oxygen strong enough to supply her lungs was the one coming directly from his. She pressed both her hands to each of his cheeks, feeling them red and on fire underneath. Melting inside when he met her affection by pulling her closer and delving himself in her endearment.

“Clara.”

“Shh,” she breathed, “Now, all we can do is love each other the best we can.”

“I love you, Clara,” he confessed yet once more; now that he knew how to pronounce those words he was addicted to them — he was addicted to the way she smiled and the way her face lifted every time he said them. He was addicted to her.

“I love you,” she said in whisper, for no one else in time space would ever be allowed those words. They were hers, to him. “My Doctor.”

Her hands timidly descended to his chests, where they slowly unbuttoned his white tee and revealed his bare skin, marked by a single red line above his heart. She brought high levels of static to the hair of his body with her touch alone, whilst her tongue explored and tasted the sweet universe of his mouth.

The Doctor slipped his hands under her dress, reaching the thighs they hid underneath. He brushed and squeezed her inner legs, however respectful not to trespass to anything she wasn’t ready or willing to give him. He was surprised, still, when she spread her legs apart to allow him further access.

Without breaking any contact, Clara moved until she was sitting on his lap, her bare feet resting just behind his back. She could feel the slight rock forming between his legs and she grinned amidst their kiss. At last, she freed his arms from the shirt they still wore.

Mimicking her actions, the Doctor struggled but managed to pull her dress over her head. For some reason, it came to him as a complete surprise to see she didn’t wear a bra. It was probably for the best, since he would most likely fail to unhook it. He embraced the sudden freedom of his lips and pathed a wet trail from the corner of her jaw to her neck to the blossom of her breast. He painted and repainted the halo around her nipple before taking it into his mouth, chewing and biting and sucking it. He held her by her back to intensify his contact, feeling the exquisiteness of her spine rigid when she threw her head back in pleasure, her hands wrapped around his neck so she wouldn’t fall off in delight.

He delicately raised her body in the air, like the daintiness of a feather, and lied her on her back on the mattress. Pulling his head back momentaneously, he consumed every little detail of her truest physique. “The poetry of the stars above us means nothing compared to the beauty  _ you  _ radiate.”

Clara instantaneously blushed, however she couldn’t bring herself to gaze away from him, so heavenly on top of her. Her hands traced down gently the line formed by his scar, until they reached the bulge of his trousers. She was careful to pull them town, alongside his underwear, allowing bits of him she had never seen before.

His eyes enlarged at the sensation of her tender touch around his growing member. She rubbed him up and down, encouraging his erection to its fullest, at the same time building the libido of her own sex and drenching the fabric of her panties with her girly juices. There was no rush, however. Time was no more than a constant in their lives.

They owned all the time in the universe.

Desiring to offer her the same pleasure going through his most sensitive nerves, the Doctor carefully raised her waist and removed her underwear. The smell of her desire for him made him harder and harder; he rubbed two of his fingers against her entrance and her hips bucked immediately.

“Doctor…” she cried his name like she had never before and he knew exactly what she needed. What  _ they  _ needed. With no further delay, he aligned the head of his shaft to the gap between her labia, teasing and provoking her by stroking himself against her wetness but not daring invade her most intimate area. Until she could no longer wait and she wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing his way inside her.

And then, they were complete. 

He took his time, adjusting himself to the tightness of her inner walls. His chest was touching hers, his warm breath landing just above her face features. He couldn’t fail to notice the tears appearing in the corner of her eyes as he started to thrust in and out of her, in a slow coordinated rhythm.

Clara restored their kiss, savoring him as he gained speed and their hips danced in the same tempo. She dug her nails to his back and left red marks there, in return having her inner lip chewed by this teeth. She was painting and breathless as her orgarm built around herself stronger than she had ever experienced it.

They came together, like they had never before. Their bodies were sweaty and tired and they never wanted to break their intimate link. He was heavy above her, she was light within herself. Their foreheads touched and they dove into one another’s eyes.

Their eyes sparkled amidst their attempts of catching their breaths. 

As soon as their daze had eased out, the Doctor secured her in his arms and fell to his side of the bed, pulling her along so she could be lying above his naked chest. He silently picked up locks of her hair and wrapped them around his fingers, only to unwrap right after. Clara hugged him sideways and their heartbeats were so near they could hear one another.

She smiled against his torso and he smiled against his scalp. No; no matter all the dangers and all the prophecies haunting them, they would never let go.

For he was beating within her heart.

And she was bleeding within his love.

Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald across the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfasdfsf i believe this chapter was what everybody waited for. let me know if you've enjoyed it!


	49. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is it. Can't believe this is really the ending. I'm not gonna lie, I might have shed a tear or two while doing the final adjustments to this story just now.
> 
> I'd like to thank everybody who's taken the time to read and comment this fanfic and managed to keep up with the madness and the angst that this story was made of. Specially to the people on twitter (you know who you are), who have made me so special by always coming to me and leaving kind words for _Beating Within Your Heart_. I thrive from your support, and you all have made me feel really special.
> 
> Also, thank you to everybody who has left me a kudos. This story is somehow now at the first page of most kudos in the twelveclara tag??? whaaaaa how did that happen im so
> 
> Thank you to my beta, who has so willingly proofread this and stayed by my side and calmed throughout all my writing crisis (and they weren't seldom lmao). Solène has also surprised me for my birthday with a Bowie tee too big for me, _just like the Doctor to Clara in the early chapters of this story_ , and oh if you had any idea how much that meant to me.
> 
> Last but not least, thank you to my dearest friend Marion, who has so faithfully taken this story _as the twelveclara bible_ lmao. She's also made a drawing of twelve and clara mutually feeling their heartbeats based on this fanfic and it still brings tears to my eyes whenever I look at it. Go check it out, she's amazing [https://twitter.com/ohmogo/status/1031072290547613696]()
> 
> With no further delay, here's the epilogue. Hope you'll enjoy it xx

_Several years later._

“Doctor… Doctor, wake up.”

The Doctor came back to himself in a jump, leaping into a seating position milliseconds after slipping into consciousness. His apple cheek was warm from the then ended contact with the palm of her hand. Looking to his side, down at her, she looked so small and scared he felt his heart growing tighter inside his chest.

“Clara…?” he called for her hoarsely, his voice having difficulties to find its way out of his vocal chords. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes were big and serious, but they still held the spark that reflected the beauty of the stars as she laid sideways across the soft mattress of the bed. “I should be the one asking you that question.”

He frowned, bringing his legs closer to his abdomen as he leaned back on his palms. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You were having a nightmare, Doctor,” she spoke softly, not daring to disturb the silence of the night.

The Doctor scoffed, disbelieved. “How could I be when I wasn’t asleep?”

“Doctor,” she scolded him, the TARDIS lighting up the room with dark shades of blue once she noticed their complete awareness. “You’re still sweating. Your heart sped up incredibly and you were mumbling in your sleep. You _were_ having a bad dream.”

“I don’t sleep, Clara,” he asserted again, falling down on his back and pulling the covers up to her collar bones, “Go back to sleep.”

She shook her head, adamantly, trying to restore an eyes contact that he failed to allow her, “Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Admit something that isn’t true?” he snapped, focusing his eyes on the ceiling in attempts of indulging her back to her slumber.

Despite his rude comeback, Clara didn’t feel offended. She was so used to his behavior she’d had learned how to deal with his stubbornness — a stubbornness she shared to her heart. Delicately, she brought the tip of her fingers to the borders of his face, tracing invisible lines that went from his jawline to the joint of his ear, caressing him in the most sensitive spots she knew would bring goosebumps to his entire body.

He quivered under her touch, catching her wrist between his index and thumb, bringing it to his chest. “Don’t.”

“What?” she pondered innocently, unsuccessfully breaking free from his grip. She peered down at the corner of his eyes, desiring to understand the feeling they held but getting nothing from them.

“Don’t try to make me feel better and get me to talk,” he moaned, harshly, laying both his hands atop of hers to stop her from moving.

“Why not?” she continued, resting her face so close to the curve of his neck.

His chest rose up and down lethargically. “Because you know I can’t _resist_ you, Clara.”

Gently, she placed her wet lips on his collar bones, knowing he wouldn’t have it in him to push her away. Then, she kissed the corner of his mouth, feeling the shivers that went from his body to hers. She confessed to the dead of the night, “I’m worried about you, Doctor.”

He chuckled, ironically, “I’m fine, _Clara_.”

“No, you’re not,” she condemned, afraid to touch him but not knowing what else to do. “Every night, I feel it, Doctor. You can’t lie to me. _Every night,_ I feel that twitch in your heart. I find you staring at me every time I wake up, only to pretend you were looking elsewhere. Those big, sad eyes. And at times, very rarely, you end up dozing off next to me — sometimes, long before _I’m_ asleep — and I watch you. I see when the serenity of your face is replaced by lines of frown, I hear as you start crying incoherent words to yourself, I sense as your heart slightly speed up in your chest until it threatens to break through the walls of your physique. I _see_ you, Doctor, and I worry.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he guaranteed, unconsciously letting his chin fall against her scalp when he tried to diverge his glare away. For some reason he couldn’t explain, being near her, feeling her against him, made everything alright. Her existence alone assured him it would all work out in the end.

Even if it might not.

With her free hand, she started tapping her fingertips on his skin, in a melody only she could hear, in a rhythm that matched the one of their heartbeat. “Is it still the same dream?”

The Doctor moisturized his mouth with his tongue, watching her head in his chest rise and fall according to his breathing pattern. His fingers started to massage the palm of her hand in his, avoiding her question the best he could, even though she would willingly grant him years of silence until he told her the truth. “Y-yes.”

She exhaled deeply, her warm breath landing just underneath his chin. “Would a hug make you feel better?”

He sniffed, “I’m not the hugging type, Clara.”

Clara shuddered, “Nonetheless.”

He smiled timidly. “Yes, it would.”

She didn’t waste any time to wrap both her arms around his neck, her left leg throwing itself around his waist. He didn’t move underneath her, allowing her body to fit perfectly against the curves of his. He just let himself be held, for it would bring comfort to both of them.

“I’m right here, Doctor,” she whispered, millimeters away from his ear. “They’re just bad dreams. They won’t come true, I won’t let them. I promise.”

Like a scared child, the Doctor hid his face in her chest, “You can’t promise that. Sometimes, Clara, dreams come to us as a way of foreseeing the future. Dreams come to _warn_ us, they tell us how the universe will turn out to be so they can smooth our pain when the inevitable ending comes. What they don’t know, however, is that they make it all _worse._ ”

“They make it worse because you can’t _detach_ yourself from them. If you’re not distracted with some evil alien or if you’re not distracted _loving me,_ then you’re thinking about it. You have to let go,” she ended her reasoning in a whisper, before burying her nose deep into the curls of his silver hair. “Doctor, how many years has it passed since you gave me your heart? I myself have lost count, haven’t you?! Don’t you think that, if I were to become the _hybrid,_ I would have done it already?!”

The Doctor breathed in the smell of hers. “I think that the future can bring us all kind of surprises. We can’t rely on anything, because everything is doomed to fate. Because everything is doomed to _fade._ ”

“Neither can we rely on our fears,” she drew conclusions from his statement, holding his head close to her heart. Caressing the skin of his apple cheek as she did so. “Besides, we’ve talked about this already. If I ever show signs of destroying the universe, you’re going to lock me in the deepest room in the TARDIS and leave me there until I die.”

Quaking at the idea, the Doctor searched for her eyes, at last. Unlike his, they were built from fearlessness. Unlike his, they sparkled in bravery. “You know I can’t do that, Clara. It’ll hurt you too much, you’re deserving of so much more than that ending.”

“Don’t be silly, the TARDIS will build me an infinite prison, she’ll provide me scenarios based on all the places you two have been, giving me all the delights of life through delicious food and terrific hologram lovers,” she bantered, meaning every word, “And you’re coming to visit, aren’t you.”

“This isn’t funny, Clara,” he lectured her, “What if I forget all about you? What if the TARDIS holds a grudge and gives you nothing but a dark cold room?”

“The TARDIS and I have a deal, I’ll keep my bedroom tidy and neat so long as she guarantees me the most perfect prison,” she carried on, “And you won’t forget me, not as long as you listen to what your heart says. Because mine speaks the same words.”

The corner of his lips cracked into a hint of a grin, “You _never_ go to your room anymore, I doubt you even remember how to get there. It’s a dirty deal, Clara.”

Clara smirked, “It’s a deal nonetheless.”

The Doctor pulled her closer, using her soft and delicate flesh as a pillow. “I will never stop listening to my heart, Clara. I promise you. I’ll always listen to you.”

Clara planted a peck of a kiss between his eyes. “I know, Doctor. Go back to sleep, now. I’ll shield you from the bad dreams.”

He awaited for her face to back away to restore the eye contact. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Clara.”

He didn’t always prophet what his heart felt; not out there, not unless within the deepness of the TARDIS and inside the depths of their intimacy. He was simply too scared that his unending love would be used against him and something bad would happen to her. Something he wouldn’t be able to prevent and he would lose her forever. Hence why, whenever he spoke out his love for her, _it meant so much more._ It was so much more profound than casual showings of affection every _ordinary_ couple was entitled to.

“If we pray enough, we’ll never have to find out.”

Not that either of them believed in some sort of greater power than _themselves._ But he believed in fate, and she believed in love. He prayed that fate would be kind enough to allow them their own forever. She prayed that their love would be strong to survive forever. Even if, somewhere deep inside their souls, they knew there was no need for prayers.

In the end, they were always destined to belong to one another.

“Clara…” he broke the silence with his heavy hoarse voice, saying so much in those two syllables only. He was scared to look away when his only comfort resided on her eyes. “My nightmares, they don’t haunt me with the prospect of the _hybrid._ No, I’ve already accepted my _duty_ if it comes to it, if it comes to the burden of stopping you. It’ll pain me like nothing has ever, but I’ll be strong enough to know my call. Like I’ve promised you.”

Her smile was thin and weak; still, it warmed his heart. “Doctor…?”

He held tighter by the bust, in whatever attempts of breaking all their physical barriers so their souls could _reach_ one another. So their souls could achieve a state of being onliest, even if sole death could bring them that. “What I fear, Clara, what leaves my mind restless and my heart burdensome… is the feasibility of losing _you._ ”

Her eyes blazed and she felt a tingle of anticipation run down her spine. She wished she would never have to leave there, that she could seclude and secure him in his arms; protecting him from the demons that laid inside his own self; _promising_ him promises she didn’t know how to keep; assuring him that she would be forever his.

Still, she embraced the intimacy of their solitude to profess, “I’m not leaving you, Doctor. You won’t ever lose me. So long as we’re breathing, we’ll stay together, for the stars have written our paths combined.”

“Yeah?” he had no certainties to believe her; yet, he did. Oh, he did. “How do you know?”

Clara led his hand to underneath her shirt, so he would feel near her, near _their_ heart. She did the same to him, sensing his heartbeat on her fingertips. “Because, my love, my heart doesn’t know how to beat without yours.”

He rested his forehead against hers, their noses grazing and their lips close to touching. “And my heart belongs truly to yours.”

They sealed their vows in a kiss. In that moment, their minds rested easy about the prophecy and their souls touched; the dangerous combination of a passionate and a powerful Time Lord and a young woman so very similar to him, companions that would willingly push each other to the extreme, wouldn’t create the hybrid destined to to unravel the web of time and destroy a billion billion hearts to heal its own.

For their hearts were already healed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The End_. Once again, thank you for taking the time to read this and leaving me your thoughts and feelings.
> 
> I announce here that as a matter of this weekend, I'll start publishing a _Bonnie and Clyde_ AU, so if you'd fancy seeing twelveclara as partners in crime, stay tuned!!

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback here or on twitter (dutiesofcare) is much appreciated :)


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